Swan Song
by C.R.Martin
Summary: We have come such a long way. We've overcome every trial...only for new ordeals to take their place. And with them, our greatest battle yet. Though I'm not the naive, reckless boy I once was, these will be my most trying times yet. I must cast away my misgivings. I must be strong. I must keep fighting...even if it means my life. FINAL INSTALLMENT IN CALAMITY HOPPERS SAGA. Rated T
1. How Far We've Come

_**Swan Song  
**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin  
**

Chapter 1 – How Far We've Come

* * *

Today is a momentous event for all of us, Woo Foo and non-Woo Foo alike. Almost everyone in town is here in attendance, both young and old, and the front lawn of the dojo has been specially prepared for today. Bamboo torches stand on each corner and burn with flames as brilliant as those of the sun. Standing opposite to where I am now is a table adorned in a ceremonial cloth, and atop it are a set of cushions each holding a belt of a certain color.

After making these observations, I look around my vicinity and find my friends and family, who are clothed accordingly for this occasion. My stepsiblings, the rabbit twins Yin and Yang, and I are dressed in traditional Japanese attire—kimono shirts and hakamas—while my teacher and father Yo is sporting an ornate shirt and pants – a _tángzhuāng_ , or the Chinese suit. Kitsune and her family have all chosen to wear the hanbok, the traditional, pocket-less Korean dress, which seems simplistic compared to our attire. Noah, who's at attendance on the outmost edge of the first row, has a suit and tie behind his back, which doesn't have the historical prestige that our outfits do, but is just as conducted.

I then look at the audience, my eyes jumping from person to person. Making note of how half of them are also formally attired, which I find surprising. It has been a fervent wish of mine that Woo Foo be seen and treated with the dignity it once had. And now that wish is a reality, but for these people to actually be here, and having arrived and dressed up punctually at that, it's breathtaking. It's unbelievable.

It's almost too good to be true, but it is. A wish made real. Nothing can ruin it.

The ceremony begins when one final member of the audience takes his seat and Lady Mediator strikes the gong. My father stands from his kneeling position and crosses over to the decorated table, picking up the cushion closest to the edge. Atop this cushion is an orange-colored belt, and he brings it over to its recipient, kneeling on the same row as Yin and Yang. In front of my beloved Kitsune.

"Please stand," Father commands.

Weiss complies with the instruction and rises to her feet, standing squarely and looking at him straight in his face. I see her determination in her eyes, burning ever so brightly. That determination, that strong will, has grown since the first time I met her. Ever since I saw her, waiting on that same bus stop, that same bench, as I.

So much has changed in her. From trying with all her might to levitate a bag of heavy groceries to going toe-to-toe with some of Woo Foo's most dangerous adversaries. She couldn't be any more deserving of this upcoming prestige.

"It's always remarkable to see our young, aspiring warriors reach higher, go further, than their current stage," says Father, his voice articulate. "And Weiss is especially remarkable amongst our newest generation of knights. To say that having her as a student is a joy is not enough. So instead, Weiss"—he crouches to her eye level, sets the cushion to the ground and takes the belt off of it—"henceforth, you are now a Grade Two Woo Foo Knight. May you continue to be a shining example to your fellow knights and to all of us, and I hope that this will motivate you to train even harder in the future." Taking the belt into his hands, he laces it around Weiss's waist and ties both ends into a knot. After that, he gives his hand to her, and they both shake on it. "Well done."

The audience starts clapping, cheering and hollering, their applause rising to ear-breaking pitches. Weiss first bows to my father before leaping into him to embrace him, and then about-faces to give Kit a hug as well. I give her a thumbs-up when she looks at me, and as the ovation quiets, she kneels back down.

My father returns to the table, but this time he motions for both Kitsune, the other Woo Foo Master overseeing the ceremony, and Noah to pick up two of the cushions. The belts on them are black with white strips by the edges. He stops in front of Yin and Yang and pauses for a few seconds, my two friends right behind him. The look on his face changes from a stern stare to a prideful smile, and he nods his head in an approving fashion. The twins take the gesture as a cue, and they too stand up, ready for what their teacher, their father, has to say.

"Woo Foo Knight Yin and Woo Foo Knight Yang. You have both shown tremendous promise since the day you embarked on this journey. In all the times that you have practiced this sacred art, you have demonstrated the valor, honor, selflessness and dedication that many the world over will find most admirable. As your journey ran its course, these traits of merit grew and have seen you through every obstacle, every ordeal, that was thrown at your direction. And now here you are, having come so far, your talents once tiny buds, now having blossomed into the marvels that they are. I, too, stand here now, as a teacher and as a father, and I cannot properly convey how proud I am of you."

He stops after that last sentence to catch himself, closing his eyes and taking paced breaths. Each one cleansing his soul. The twins look to where I am, and I beam a gentle smile at them. Though this is a very big occasion, I'd say it's big on them the most.

Father opens his eyes. "It is out of that same pride that I hereby entitle you Woo Foo Masters. Kitsune, Noah, if you please," he says, beckoning them to step forth and fasten the belts around the twins' waists. "Congratulations, you two."

He claps his hands together, the joy in his face as plain as it gets. The audience too applauds in a thunderous crescendo of clapping, whistling and cheering. Kitsune give both twins a short embrace while Noah shakes their hands.

The applause fades as my father calls for Kit to pick up yet another cushion from the table. The belt, this time, is light green with emerald borders, and its recipient watches from the other side of the lawn, also kneeling down. His anxiety shows in the tenseness of his posture and builds the closer my father and Kit come to him. It's an anxiety born from the thought of being unworthy. I'd be pretty nervous about accepting an honor like this, too, if I was an unabashed miscreant. If I was so hell-bent on destroying everything. Destroying the world.

Well…I was kinda like that before. Okay, I _was_ like that, but you get what I mean.

My father and Kitsune stand at attention before this person for a second or five before asking him to stand. While the two of them are perfectly calm, this person…not so much. He may _seem_ calm, but his paws and knees are quivering like mad.

"I can see how excited you are, given that you're doing a tremendous job holding still," humors my father lightly, managing a giggle out of some people in the audience. "All joking aside, this is as huge moment for you, too. Ever since the day you came into this world, you always had this fire that burned in you. In some cases, that fire equaled that of my sons." This comment draws out a chuckle from me. "You wanted to learn our art so bad with the intent of proving your worth to the world. Though you did had a few screws loose at the time, and I have the bumps on my head to prove it. But I was also at fault. I didn't have the temperance to properly mold you into a fine Woo Foo Knight. I apologize for that. And yet, despite this, you've managed to demonstrate the skill of one. And as your talent grew, so did your virtue. I must imagine how hard you tried to convince all these people of your change of heart, which didn't always go so well, from what I'm told." For some reason, Yin and Yang are a little uncomfortable from hearing this. "Nevertheless, you have come a long way…Yuck." He takes another slow bow.

Yuck, humbled by these words, bows back to him, his nerves no longer rattled. He takes a deep breath and gleams a terse smile at my father, and Noah pats him on the shoulder for a little encouragement.

"And so, I declare you Honorary Woo Foo Knight. Even though you are not a full-fledged Knight, your bravery on our behalf shall always be remembered," adds Father, taking the belt from the cushion and tying it around Yuck's waist, unlike with the rabbit twins a moment ago. The both of them bow at each other again and then shake hands, Kit and Noah hugging and shaking hands respectively afterwards.

The applause from the audience starts anew. Still loud, but not deafeningly like with Yin and Yang. Caught up in the moment, Yuck gazes at his newly-gained belt, holds one of its tips tightly and allows his smile to stretch as far as his cheeks.

"Thank you, Master Yo," says Yuck, sheepishly. "I, um… I'm allowed to call you that, am I?"

"By all means. Why wouldn't you?" replies my father amid the clapping.

He moves to the center of the front row and kneels down. Again, the ovation stops. Lady Mediator casts her gaze on me and then moves from the gong to where my father is. There's my prompt. I take it and join her to her right, eyes shifting back and forth between the audience and my father. Each breath passes in and out of me, the tension escaping from every orifice. My bones, my muscles and my insides falling into serenity.

I stroll over to the table and pick up the final item that remains—a fine, smooth silk robe, dark gold in color—and return to the Lady's side. A short silence now fleeting by, she speaks, her voice retaining its effect – a resounding echo that causes my chest to vibrate. "To your feet, Woo Foo Master Yo."

My father does just that promptly, each move paced. Dignified. He holds a firm footing and faces me and Lady Mediator square in the eyes, not a single inch of him flinching or shivering. Complete focus and attention, a fortitude whetted throughout his many years of existence. It is as sharp as it always was and has not dulled whatsoever.

I may be of a higher rank than he is, but his expertise dwarfs mine.

"Truly amazing, your undying loyalty, your commitment, to our ancient art and to our cause," adds the Lady. "If one were to put this merit into measurement, it would extend as far as the earth and sea below or the sky above. One may say that it even transcends them. From childhood to adulthood, from past to present, you have embodied the pinnacle of Woo Foo and everything it stands for. Time and again, you have proven this in skill and in character. And in doing so, you have conquered every obstacle, every trial and tribulation, that has come your way, both external and internal. In recognition of this, it is with great honor and pleasure that I present you the highest distinction in our art."

He spreads his arms out to his sides, and I approach him. As I fit the robe around his person, he adjusts the thing, ironing out any crinkles that might have arisen. This feels weird to me. I'm supposed to be the student, and he's supposed to be my teacher. It doesn't make me any less happy for them, but still… Isn't the teacher usually the one giving praise and recognition to the student and _not_ the other way around?

He brings his arms back down and then looks at me, and then back at Lady Mediator, awaiting the end of her speech. Both fists clenching, trying to not let all this praise get to his head.

"And thus I dub you Woo Foo Grandmaster Yo," says the Mediator, enunciating my father's name and title. These words reaching out to the farthest row in the audience and past it. "Congratulations. You have earned it."

The final round of applause rings, the loudest of them all. The clapping, the cheering and the whistling have gotten louder by a thousand fold. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but I'll be amazed if I don't go deaf by the end of the day. Everyone's hands must be hurting from all that clapping by now, and yet they still go on. One person in the audience even takes his blazer off and swings it in the air, and I roll my eyes at this and chuckle. Someone should really tell it to him. This isn't exactly that kind of celebration.

Lady Mediator gestures for the audience to stop cheering and return to their seats, and they do. She clasps her hands together, eyes panning left and right.

"That will conclude today's proceedings," she says. "I'd like to thank all of you for your attendance, and may your travels back home be safe. For those of you who wish to congratulate our Woo Foo Knights, you may do so, but please do not take too much time."

Most of the audience start getting up and take their leave, walking out of the dojo grounds in an orderly manner. A fraction of them stay behind to shake hands with the newly-graduated Woo Foo Knights, commending them for their efforts. And maybe share a few words with them. I myself also shake hands with some of these people, but don't really take the time to have at least a brief chat with them. The most I say are stuff along the lines of 'thank you', 'not a problem', 'have a safe trip back home' and 'take care'. At the least, I nod at every person that passes my way. Other than that, I don't say much.

There's only one person I can be bothered speaking too for more than five seconds, and I see her approaching me now. Rather than extending her arm—actually, it's a wing, but it's the same idea—and preparing to shake my hand, she gives me a good-natured pat on the arm and brings out her best smile to go with it.

"Hey there," I greet her.

"Nice going there, Lu," says Heather, my swan friend from the _Wild Ones'_ bar. She's dressed in quite a snappy-looking outfit: a buttoned shirt underneath a jacket, with slacks to match. "Quite a big day this has been for you, huh?"

I grin at her remark. "Eh. Today's not really about me," I return as I watch the rabbit twins—my stepsiblings—shake hands with a queue of people. On my left, my father is talking to someone that he probably knows, or knew, very well. I think he does, because their conversation is clocking in at two minutes now, and I predict that it'll last them three or five more. "They're the real stars of the show."

"It would appear so," Heather continues, looking at them along with me. "So this is your extended family. To be honest, I was expecting a bit more, um…y'know, more like this."

She points her hands at me, tentatively flailing them at every possible physical feature of my body. Either she's too scared to bring it up or she can't properly put it into words.

"I don't mean any disrespect or anything. What I'm trying to say is—"

"S'okay, I know what you mean."

As I say this, there are about, I'd say, six or seven or eight non-Woo Foo people remaining, not counting Tyler or his mother, Miriam. Beyond the dojo's surrounding walls, the sun is now in the midst of its descent. I look back at Heather and say to her, "Hey, uh, I really appreciate you coming over. I didn't think you'd be here. Means a lot." Heather simply smiles at this and nods her head. "How's the bar these days?"

"Same as it's always been," Heather answers, directing her gaze at me. "Business has been going smoothly lately."

"Oh, has it?"

"Yup. We're getting in lots more customers than before. Sadly, that also means more passed-out customers for me to haul out the door." She scoffs lightly, meaning for that last comment to be in jest. "But it's not all bad news. I just made assistant manager last week."

"Wow. Nice one." I pat her lightly on the back, repaying her the gentle bump from earlier.

"And damn, if it doesn't feel good," says Heather with a satisfied tongue. "But it still ain't the same without you, man."

Hearing this brings forth a sigh out of me. My tenure at _Wild Ones'_ had to be cut short, to my regret and hers. I had my reasons for this. It needed to be done so that I could deal with the Infernal Beast-Makai situation without being sidetracked.

Over to my right are Yin and Yang talking to the last two people on queue. One of them is the chicken, Coop. And the other, the canine, Lina. They told me about them before. Well, Yang told me about Lina, at least. About their little romance. Which would make the yellow fowl Yin's boyfriend.

They talk for a minute or two before ending on a slow, weary handshake. They seem to notice how weak their grip must be, because they pause for a second. The twins let out a chuckle, their cheeks flushed, scratching the backs of their heads. Realizing how awkward the scene has become, they say their farewells and walk away, exhaling a sigh of relief.

I guess it's over between them. I mean, why else would they be uncomfortable talking to each other?

"Ah, young love. Doesn't it just warm your heart?" Heather comments, also observing the four of them. Her wings clutched together against her chest.

I roll my eyes and shake my head, having never seen this side of Heather before. So easily enamored, her emotions overriding her.

Come to think of it, I think it's endearing, too. Caring about someone, loving someone. Letting that affection get the better of you, dictating what you would say, what you would do, what you would think. It's no different from throwing caution to the wind and skydiving off the side of an airplane, climbing the side of a mountain or some other death-defying feat. Yin and Coop, and Yang and Lina, they're not the least bit different from Kit and I when we were their age.

Speaking of Kitsune, one passing glance over my shoulder, and I almost catch her looking at me and Heather, but dart my eyes back to the rabbit twins. With Lina and Coop gone, Yin and Yang are sitting on the very first row of chairs, the former hunched forward and resting her head on her knuckle, and the latter's head arched over the backrest.

"Anyway, I'm heading off now," says Heather, gently prodding me with her elbow.

"Are you now?" I turn to her, and I'm met with her rosy-cheeked smile. "I see. Well, it was nice catching up with you, Heather."

"Same here." Heather dashes off, but she stops right by the second row to tell me one final statement. This one is spoken with a particular compassion. "Oh, before I forget, there's always gonna be a vacancy at _Wild Ones'_ with your name on it. Just don't tell anyone, especially not my boss. He'll have my head on a silver platter if he ever found out."

I giggle a little, grateful for her offer. For her continued kindness to me. "Thanks. And don't you worry, my lips are sealed. See ya later."

"You too, Lu," she says cheerily as she continues down her path. "Bye." From here all the way to the dojo entrance, she waves her wing goodbye at me. In a second or so, she's gone.

To my left, Kitsune approaches me, her dress fluttering in her wake. She nears me and plants her paw on my shoulder.

"Was that a friend of yours?" she asks, leaning her head against me. In a mild tone

"Yeah," I say.

"What'd you talk about?"

"Oh, you know. Stuff. Mostly catching up."

I scan the mostly empty lawn in front of me in hopes of letting the subject drop; I don't want Kit to get the wrong idea or anything. Not that I don't trust her—and I do—but the last thing I need is any needless complications.

Yuck, Weiss and my father are speaking to the last audience member, all of them taking turns in shaking his hand. When it's Weiss's turn, I notice her passing a glance at Yang sitting casually on his chair, a wavering look upon her countenance. An indecipherable look; whether it's worry, sadness or what, I have no idea. She straightens her face as she faces the man she's shaking hands with, but a trace of her unease lingers through her terse smile.

She must be tired after such a long day, I tell myself. I wrap my arm around Kitsune, placing it a little above her waist. Deriving solace from her touch. Though I may be a warrior, a Woo Foo Knight, I'm at my strongest, my most protected, in her arms. With this calm now upon us—upon this town, upon this world—there's plenty of time for me and her. We won't have to be together for five seconds only to be pulled apart by some unforeseen circumstance. By whatever's out of our control.

"What a day this has been," she comments.

"You don't have to tell me," I reply, folding my arms. Eyes jumping back and forth between the rabbit twins, Weiss, Yuck and my father. Pondering on the eulogies that have been given to them, how they hit the nail on the head word for word. Syllable for syllable.

"She's a big girl now. All grown up. So strong, so determined." Her words, sweet as nectar.

"Well, who do you think was behind it?" I say as I get behind Kitsune, wrap my arms around her neck and nuzzle her side.

"Tell me," says Kit teasingly, expecting me to not pick up on it. Unfortunately for her, I do, but I decide to play along. I put my hands back around her waist, which makes her giggle.

"You know the answer to that." I giggle back.

Our laughter lasts us the entire sunset – a glimpse into what we can expect from this time of peace. This peace that we've all worked so hard for, that we will protect. Because no matter how fragile it is, it can never completely, irreparably break.

We eventually stop, and my father calls for the two of us to clear up the front lawn. After one quick chuckle, we get to work right away.


	2. The More Things Change

_**Swan Song**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin**

Chapter 2 – The More Things Change

* * *

A lot of things can change over a small amount of time, as I have learned in my fifteen years of living. One moment the world is upside down, in disarray, in need of being saved. The next, there is harmony everywhere, with the sun shining brightly in the sky without a cloud in sight, and conflicts having reached a resolution. Only for new challenges, new tribulations, to take their place…

That is the position I and a few of the people close to me find ourselves in today.

It has been two years now since the Infernal Beast's resurrection, and our battle and subsequent triumph over him. Over those two years, there have been many things that have happened, most of them for the ultimate good. Every day always starts off bright, and though it can get trying at times, the light that burns in us never dissipates. And that light carries on from one day to the next.

But I've also learned that there are some things in this world that cannot change. That cannot _be_ changed…

My father has taken a handful of us to a place that no one else besides him has ventured before. I know that he's been here because he's the one leading the way. He guides us through the open fields, where the grass is freshly cut and the air is crisp and fragrant. The sun in the sky constantly shedding its light down on these fields give a picturesque feel to them. Breathtaking. No wonder he used to visit here from time to time as he claimed.

We walk towards a small hill, and beyond that hill, at the distance, is a lake that is vast and abundant with birds and lilies. One object that stands out in this scenery is a _sakura_ tree, a cherry blossom tree, overlooking the lake, situated next to its rim. Some of the petals have already fallen, and there are plenty more dangling on the branches, ready to fall at any time.

Dad, pointing at the tree, wastes little time and goes towards its direction. I follow him. So does Yin, who is by my side every inch of the way. I look over my shoulder and find Lupin, Kitsune, Weiss and Noah closely behind. Lupin's eyes are cautious, almost clairvoyant, like he has foreseen what we're about to find.

At the tree, Yin and I side with our father, who is kneeling on the ground, immersed in his thoughts. In front of him is a slab made out of granite—a tombstone. Once I see it, my insides go heavy. Not because of the tombstone itself, but what is engraved on it.

 _In Loving Memory_

 _Maria_

 _Ōkami_

 _Warrior and Pioneer – brave and devoted_

 _Friend, wife and mother – compassionate, loyal, kind and loving_

"This is…" I mutter, eyes trained on the stylized words.

Lupin sees the tombstone as well. His reaction speaks for itself. Wide-eyed and gasping at the thing, he moves in on Dad's other side and stays standing. Kitsune leans her head on his shoulder in an embrace, and Noah gives him a rub on his back.

"I never got to bring the three of you here," says Dad, somberness in his voice. By 'three', he means me, my sister and my partial brother. "I'm sorry."

If I had a penny for every time my father had to apologize to us, I would be set for life.

Lupin, looking uneasy, kneels next to Dad and puts a hand over his mouth to muffle any sobs that he might choke out. My sister puts a hand on him and caresses his lap.

I concentrate on the epitaph written on the tombstone. As one of the Four Pioneers of Woo Foo, Maria knew no fear. If she did, she was strong enough to cast it aside. It empowered her. Although I've only heard of her being an unfailing friend, lover and parent in the accounts that my father and Miriam have given me. But if Lupin's mere existence is any indication, then these accounts must be true. She really was the brave, selfless, compassionate Woo Foo Knight she was made out to be.

Yin wraps her hand around mine and rests her head on my shoulder, also dwelling on this. This visit, this meadow, this lake, this grave. This place that Dad and his friends have made hallow. The look in her eyes is misty, just like my half-brother's look.

"What was she like? Maria, I mean," says Yin, sounding like she's just about to cry.

"I bet she was amazing, wasn't she?" I add. Knowing Dad, he'll probably gush over Maria some more. Go on and on for seconds, minutes or hours on end about how she was a wonderful person or how he loved her so much.

Dad tilts his head and faces the grass. For a moment there, I could have sworn that he cracked a smile there. He is. A weak smile, one of pining and sadness, but a smile nonetheless.

"She was," he says, enjoying the brief revisiting of his memories. And there it is. "Well, she was strong. She was definitely stronger than the rest of us Pioneers. She always had this—what do you call it?—drive that drove her forward. She hardly got scared of what came her way. But at the same time, for as smart as she was, she was rather reckless. We didn't always agree with the choices she made." One such choice being the decision to attempt to harness a power that is forbidden to any common person. "But at the end of the day, we still loved her." A tear manages to sneak its way past one of his eyelids. He faces Lupin, unashamed of the tear in his eye, and pats his leg. "Come to think of it, she was a lot like you."

Endeared, Lupin smiles and allows a tear of his own to fall from his right eye. He takes his flailing tail into his grasp and meditates on that last sentence.

"Mother… I wonder what she would say if she were here," he says, letting go of his tail and stroking the tombstone with his finger.

Dad has nothing to say in return. The rest of us are also quiet…

…except for me.

Clearing my throat a little, I breathe deeply, lift my head up and face the sky. And then, I put myself in my father's shoes, in his place, envisioning what it's like to watch over a child. To nurture him, to guide him, to love him through the good and the bad. The joy of seeing your own flesh and blood become something according to the vision you have. It's not as clear as when Dad himself recollects; I'm not a parent, after all. But I think it's sufficient enough.

"I think," I say, cautious. "I think she'd say that she raised her son well. I think she'd say how proud she is of what you've become."

At first, Lupin doesn't accept this. But eventually he does, as his initial frown turns into yet another smile. A smile that Kitsune and Noah share, that eventually spreads to the rest of us.

Dad takes Lupin's hand into his and gives it a gentle shake. "She loved you, Lu. You may not have been together for long, but you know it's true." The necklace that my half-brother wears around his neck is proof of that.

This particular musing has me diverting into another tangent.

Two, actually.

One of them is about the revelation of the ties Lupin has to me, my sister and my father. Ever since then, I'm not so sure what to make of this. He is much—and I mean _much_ —older than me and Yin. All I ever saw him as was the vagabond wolf who took me in and taught me more about the ways of Woo Foo. It's weird, trying to adjust to this. Trying to see him as anything other than the master I've always seen him as. Heck, even calling him 'bro' or 'big bro' or anything other than 'sir' or 'master' is awkward for me as it is.

The other is about our own mother. Mine and Yin's. If Dad loved Maria as he has claimed so much, it doesn't really justify him marrying Selene. Yet it can't really be entirely his fault. Suffered a greater heartache in one lifetime than anyone could face in two, and having his memory wiped clean not once and not twice, but three times. But still, through these occasions of having the slate wiped clean, he must have retained at least a fragment of who he once was. What drove him to have a change of heart after all these years? Maybe I'm missing something crucial. Something important that not even he remembers.

A guttural noise breaks me out of my trance. My stomach rumbles, begging to be fed. Everyone gives me their peculiar looks, eyebrows raised, Noah chuckling to himself as if he derives amusement. My cheeks flush as I laugh a sheepish giggle.

"Oops. Sorry for killing the moment," I say.

These past two years have been peaceful, sometimes uneventful, save for a few crises that call us into action. I'm acting like my old self again because of this peace, except a little more subdued and with newly gained knowledge and wisdom to keep me in check.

Kitsune, who seems to have foreseen this, has gotten up to her feet. In her possession is a large cloth with striped patterns, blown by the easy-going breeze. A picnic rug that she has hand-made.

She giggles at my grumbling stomach, unfurling the rug, and says, "Well lucky for you, your timing could not be any more perfect. Stand back, guys."

We all spread out in a circle, Dad and Lupin moving behind the tombstone, and immediately get on the rug. Noah brings forth a picnic basket that's filled to the brim with food, drinks, plates, cups and utensils. No, I am not kidding. You can see the cloth covering it coming off with a bottle of water protruding from the gaps. It's a miracle it hasn't been blown off by the wind yet.

Setting it on the rug, Noah makes a passing comment about the sandwiches he prepared—Kitsune cheekily retorts that they taste like sanding paper, or in other words crap—and takes out the contents of the basket. As soon as he's done, we all grab whatever we want, whatever we _can_ , and begin stuffing our faces.

We remain here for quite a while, enjoying each other's company over lunch, before taking our leave.


	3. Don't ever lose sight

_**Swan Song**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin**

Chapter 3 – Don't ever lose sight

* * *

"How do I look, Yang?" I let the question slip past my tongue. I twirl in place so that I can flaunt the ensemble I'm wearing for tonight's festivities – a ravishing, gemstone-studded scarlet marvel of a dress that makes the fairest flower out there whittle away in shame.

Yang, sitting in front of my mirror, observes my dress. His preparations are finished. His clothes for tonight are just as simple yet astounding as mine – a white buttoned shirt underneath a glistening, cerulean suit and violet-and-brown-striped tie, and tucked into a pair of silk pants that matches the suit in color. Perched on the suit's outer pocket is a bright white flower—a gardenia—as an added touch.

He nods, an odd smile on his face. Like he sees past my attire, believing that it conceals something…more. My brother is such a tease, and usually at the worst possible times.

"Let me put it like this," he says, his scrutinizing eyes washing over me, past my clothes. "Any boy down there who sets his eyes on you will go bonkers over…well, this." He gestures at me, at the dress. I suppose that it's a compliment, so I don't bother with a retort. "Not if I have anything to say about it, of course." He beats his fist against his palm two times and punches the air in front of him as he makes this remark.

I roll my eyes. "Easy there, tiger. I don't think there's going to be any need for that, tonight." I hold his fists, which stops him from moving.

Smiling smugly, Yang puts his hands up, as if to surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll be on my best behavior…ninety percent of the time." The comment makes me chuckle, and I shake my head and face him to say that it's good enough. "What about me, sis?"

"What _about_ you?"

"You know what I mean."

That, I do. It's my turn to inspect him. To point at his suit and then at the gardenia for any faults that need ironing out. "You clean up pretty nicely. For a change."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing." I jest.

I hand him my brush and instruct him specifically. I twirl around to check myself in the mirror, gazing deep into my reflection after stopping.

Fifteen years. That's how much long it's been since Yang and I were born. Like every other birthday, this is a big deal for us. And I mean all of us. It's so important that everyone we know has had a hand in making today special. Whether big or small, from Lina to Dave to Roger to Lupin to Kitsune to Weiss to Dad.

They've boasted that the party they're organizing is going to be 'out of this world'. I guess that's why we're confined to our room; they want to ensure that what they have in store will exceed our expectations. I'm beginning to think that they're the ones who are really looking forward to the occasion, especially if they can make that huge a claim.

After a few finishing touches—a puff of hairspray to a hairclip and my trademark ribbon being done up—Yang and I are ready. We look at ourselves at the mirror one more time and stare in awe at our attire. My brother cracks a joke that we might look like a good couple together in the eyes of the uninitiated. That we're…compatible. I take his remark for what it is and let it slide.

He heads for the door, but I stop him just before he can grab the doorknob to remind him, which he groans to. He wanted so bad to find out about the preparations, pestering our friends and dad until they broke and caved in. But they didn't.

And even if either of us got out of the room, there's still the barrier that Lupin had erected that seals the stairs off. As I near the door, my skin twinges from sensing the immense Woo Foo power emanating outside. It's another reminder of how powerful he really is. And how much stronger my brother had become under his tutelage.

"Oh, well. Guess it can't be helped," states Yang, eventually surrendering and leaping onto his bed. There, he crosses one leg over the other and pulls out his handheld video game console from under his blanket. The combination of buttons being pressed and sound effects flood the room.

I recognize the voices as well as the game itself. _BlazBlue: Chrono Phantasma_. A present that I had gotten him this Christmas.

Leaving my brother to his devices, I stay on my side of the room and pull out an object of my own under my bed. Something to invest in to pass the time. Surprisingly, the thing is heavy, demanding that I use both of my hands. The ' _don't judge a book by its cover_ 'saying has never felt more appropriate.

I pull out a photo album given to me by Miriam, mother to Kitsune and Woo Foo Pioneer. I had been visiting her mountainside cottage lately so that I can speak to her some more. Know more about her, and maybe even know more about our mother. She gave me this album during my latest visit. She wanted the memories stored in them to be preserved, appreciated for the coming generations.

I look inside the album, and my heart is aflutter from looking at the pictures. Most of these were taken by Miriam, seeing as she's closer to the camera in a few, but there's a good deal of them taken by the other Pioneers.

These photographs cover different events. One page is dedicated to a dinner they had at some swanky Italian restaurant, while another page chronicles their days as a rock band. Yes, a rock band, with the appropriate get up to boot. Leather clothing laden with spikes, glitter and rhinestones, wild hairstyles—or wigs—and the occasional face paint. Each one of them is holding a musical instruments in this set of photographs – Dad on bass, Mom on keyboard, Maria on guitar and Miriam on the drums.

The page after that consists of pictures of them at the beach, sporting some pretty skimpy swimwear. I had seen some of these on Miriam's wall, too, and to this day, I am amazed at how my mother looked great in her two-piece bikini and my father in his dainty red swimming trunks.

A warmth swells in my chest, my emotions piqued by each picture. Interest. Affection. Laughter. Awe. I take a look at more of the album, from start to finish, to indulge these feelings. As a reminder of how precious the little things in our lives may be, how oft times we devalue them, only to remember their worth too little too late.

For the next few hours, we remain confined to our room, which doesn't bother us at all. Once in a while, I glance at the magatama bead around my neck. This gemstone hand-crafted by my parents—a conduit through which a loved one's departed soul may stage a life-saving intervention—an inheritance shared between me and Yang. Staring at this thing keeps my hope alive. The hope that my mother is out there, and that our reunion will indeed come to be. Like fanning a fire to prevent it from fizzling out.

In ten seconds, I let out a yawn. My eyes droop, and my body is wrought with fatigue. For all the diligence and perseverance I've gained throughout my years of training, I'm still prone to bouts of inevitable sleep. Scanning through the album and looking at my necklace has given way for drowsiness to kick in. I submit to the urge and fall into slumber.

When I come to, it is fifteen minutes before six. The sun is nearing the end of its descent. I hear Yang whispering my name and feel him jostling me awake. Strands of drool have dried in the time that has passed. He points them out and succeeds in getting me out of bed, and frantically I wipe my face clean. God, that's annoying! It's so disgusting, not to mention undignified. I'm a woman, for crying out loud; I should be above this!

Of course, Yang gets a laugh out of my misfortune. "Got some right here, to the left." He gestures at his own lip, and I follow his finger. When I miss, he laughs again, and I slap his arm with the back of my hand.

"This isn't funny," I say, my pout breaking into a half-smile. My own voice betraying me.

We leave our room and hear chatter and music coming from the bottom floor. We proceed down the stairs, the barrier vanishing with a snap of Lupin's fingers as soon as he sees us. Yang and I find ourselves at a loss for words, with eyes agape. Not only has the dojo been changed, but it feels like standing in a whole different place altogether. It's otherworldly, just like they claimed.

"And here they are," Dad exclaims, putting his arms around our shoulders. Leading us around.

There's a stage in the living room, with speakers on both sides and lights hanging above. On the stage are a drum kit, a few guitars—one of which is Iron Maiden—and a turntable with a DJ setting up his equipment there. Over at the side, a long buffet table bears host to all kinds of foods. Hot dogs, pizzas, salads, pastas, just to name a few. They really went the extra mile.

"What do you two think? We did a pretty bang-up job, if I do say so myself," says Dad, noticing our dumbfound expressions. Clearly getting into the spirit of the party. "Just look at you two. I knew you'd like it. Right?"

Neither I nor Yang say anything. Our silence does the talking for us. I don't like it. I _love_ it. I _did_ fantasize about being a princess when I was very young, but now I feel exactly like one. Standing in the midst of all of this—the stage, the instruments, the buffet, the banner spelling out our names—is just so surreal.

Many guests have already arrived. I easily make out the familiar faces within the dense crowd—Lina, Roger, Coop, Dave. I nudge Yang on his arm and point him to where they are, and head there.

"Glad you guys could make it," I say, promptly waving my hand at them. Lina gives me a hug while Yang, Roger, Coop and Dave give each other fist bumps.

"Girl, are you kidding? We wouldn't miss it for the world," says Lina, raising the can of lemonade in her hand. Her eyes land on Yang, and the air around her gets a little colder. She hesitates, but acknowledges him and, with a nod of her head, says, "Yang." The word feels empty, as does her stare.

Likewise, Yang nods at her, tucking his hands into his pockets and glancing away from her. "Lina."

Roger and Dave are anxious from listening to the exchange, but Coop and I are perfectly calm. We understand a lot about having to trade words with someone you used to love. The awkwardness, the discomfort, the stifled laughter. We know because we're in that position, too. Right now.

Yang and I know that our superficial highs are just that. Superficial. We're both done chasing after these highs. We've come to terms with the dangers of young love—the obvious and not-so-obvious ones. But being here with them, it's still strange.

I can tell because staring eye to eye with Coop right now is as strange as the first time we've looked at each other after we pulled the pin on us. Part of me, at this moment, is searching those eyes of his. Anything that says that there's still hope for us. But I'm not going to pretend. He and I can love and care for each other on a lesser, much safer level.

I want to run. I want to go run and hide in a corner somewhere.

"If you don't mind, we'll head over to the buffet table and get a, um…sneak peek," says Roger, rather nervously, to get away. He motions to Dave.

Dave, always the oblivious goof, replies with, "Dude, we're not allowed. Master Yo's going to kill us."

"Ah, don't get your branches in a knot. We're just gonna help out and see if shit's in place." Roger twitches his head a few times. He yanks Dave by the arm, the wood stump finally getting the idea, and they leave the four of us by ourselves.

I wish they didn't, though. Their presence here lessens the tension by a margin.

Yang scratches the back of his head and gives a nervous laugh. A flush surfaces on his cheeks, his face red as a tomato. An expression that I pick up on easily, and soon share as a result.

"Now that that's out of the way, how have things been with you guys?" he asks, reclining his head against his hands. Trying to make this scenario more bearable for all of us.

We then go into a conversation with our respective crushes, none of us knowing where it'll lead to. Topics are brought up just like that, and we play the whole thing by ear. At least it's better than standing idly and letting the quiet drive us nuts. We just…talk. Just four friends sharing pieces of their lives, as always, in spite of our failed prospects.

Our talk lasts us a while. Roughly half an hour. Soon we, at Yang's suggestion, move to the buffet table and try out the food. The conversations continue there.

Lina brings up things like her new high school, which is a twenty-minute bus ride from her farm. Coop talks about balancing between his studies and helping his mom's novelist career, creating covers for her books and discovering a passion for art that had gone unnoticed for a long time. These topics stay in my head briefly. Though minuscule as they may be, they keep our friendship intact.

"How about you? What've you two been up to lately?" asks Coop, twiddling his wings like they were a pair of opposable thumbs.

My brother and I look at each other for a second. We realize that the baton has been passed over to us.

"Oh, this and that," I say, inadvertently cutting my brother off. It throws me off a bit, but I rebound seamlessly. "Y'know, the usual. Homeschooling, fighting villains, all that good stuff. Right, Yang?"

"Yeah, what she said," says Yang with a shrug, grabbing a slice of pizza to bite.

Now that it's his turn to carry out the conversation, I wander my head around to check on the guests. I'm expecting a certain one to be here, or at least come through the dojo's doors. More and more people enter, greeting everyone they can. My heart skips a beat as I search the flow of guests. Not one of them is him.

The festivities truly begin in ten minutes time, when the disc jockey on-stage plays the first song and goes to work on his turntables. A spectrum of lights dance from the ceiling, enticing people to get on the dance floor and move to the rhythm. Guests bid us their birthday wishes and greetings. Yang accepts each of them fervently, and only after seeing him do it a few times do I get comfortable with it too. It _would_ be a shame to let this party go to waste.

"Oh my God. Is that a…" says Yang as he eyes something at the buffet table, the rest of his words stuck in his throat. His ears twitch excitedly.

"What? What is it?" I turn to where my brother is gawking at and find my answer there. Two well-dressed men from the catering company my father had hired haul in a chocolate fountain to be placed on the buffet table. For a second, I too am speechless. "Holy crap." I don't think that alone will suffice. It towers over everything else on the table and oozes a ceaseless brown cascade.

The caterers exit and continue with bringing in more hors d'oeuvres, including snacks to go with the fountain. I shift my eyes from them to Yang's now slobbery mouth. He faces me, and again, I pull the words right out of his mouth.

"Go help yourself, dude," I say, stifling a laugh. As he dashes to the table, I add, "Bring me some marshmallows too while you're at it."

"Yeah, sure thing."

I wander around the dojo some more, mingling with the guests. I make my way to the backyard to get some fresh air. But I soon find that I am not alone. This other figure is defined by a suit of sky blue armor. It exudes strength. My heart has accelerated, but I don't allow her to see it. This is probably futile considering who this person is.

My spirits tingle in this silence. These feelings remind me of the esteem this person is held in. The tremendous power at her disposal. Showing her anything less than the respect that is due her would be unwise on my part.

Out of reverence, I go down on one knee, put my hand on my chest and bow my head.

"Lady Mediator," I greet, eyes closed.

"Woo Foo Knight Yin," returns the Mediator. "A pleasure to see you."

"The pleasure is all mine, milady. What brings you here?" I tilt my head up to face her. To countenance her ethereal apparition.

"These winds carry us to where our purpose beckons, but if there is one thing I know, they will always lead us back home at the end of the road."

She _did_ say something about embarking on an adventure across the world, to see if there were other places that needed her. Her influence. But that was three weeks ago. If she's back so soon, then the whole world must be at peace as well.

"I see."

"I am also here to bid you and your brother my most fervent wishes on your birthday."

"I… I'm honored, milady. Thank you." I bow to her even lower until I am practically groveling at her feet. Beneath that helmet of hers, I can feel a smile rising on her face. Actually, _is_ there a face under that helmet?

"You are most welcome, child. Come now. There's no need for formalities. Rise," says the Mediator, her helmet altering her voice.

"Sorry," I stammer. Being in the presence of someone of an esteem as high as a mountain such as the Mediator has unnerved me to that degree.

Then the Mediator does something I'd never see her do. She laughs. _Giggles_. It's brief, but still… "Please, Yin. Really. It is alright. No need for apologies."

Getting my act together, I invite the Mediator to take a seat with me on the grass. I close the doors to the dojo with my magic to shut out, or at least muffle, the noise from the party. That, and there must be more to her being here than just simple birthday greetings. I can't afford to throw this many people into a panic.

"It is good to be back," says the Mediator, adapting a more casual tone.

As we adjust to the evening chill, I ask the Mediator about her journey, where her travels have led to and what she has found on the way.

She shares several accounts of meeting different kinds of people—different in race, ethnicity and beliefs—during her trip. With the exception of a select few being too distasteful for her liking, her experiences were pleasant for the most part. On the flipside, she can count the number of people who remember her in her one hand. A fact that she only briefly laments over.

Because to her, it isn't that big of a deal. These people she met all cherished peace and strived to preserve it. Above all, they cherished each other. There was no need to tell that age old story over and over again to stress the point. And there certainly was no need to advocate for an aged martial art in order to empower these people. They get enough of that, and I'm sure they're beyond sick of it already.

Even so—and this is a point she _does_ stress—it doesn't permit us from shirking our duties. It may be calm nowadays, but there will always be turbulence. We may never know when we're called into action once more, so we must be vigilant.

"That's just the ramblings of an old lady. Best to not mind it too much," she advises.

The evening chill has seemingly gotten worse. It nips at my skin, makes every string of fur cling to each other. But then I realize that it's simply Lady Mediator moving to the last, but certainly not the least, topic she has to discuss. Quite possibly the biggest of her motivations for her journey.

The effects it has over her is still visible, even now. How she holds her arms over her breastplate for comfort, how she sways her head to the side. The way her voice cracks under that helmet, and how she curls into a ball and buries her face in her knees to hide the pain. To conceal any sign of weakness. Sometimes it succeeds, but often it fails. Revisiting this hurts her so much, yet she can't help but do it.

Every time I see her like this, wrought with grief, encumbered by it, I feel the need to come close to her. To wrap her in my arms and let the warmth seep through the cold metal of her armor. To feel her hurt. Take all of it, or at least a portion, and make it my own.

"I never really told him," says the Mediator, choking on her every word. "We always had this golden rule to abide to. Show no emotion, for it removes your heart and mind from the battle. I wish we didn't have that rule." She perches one arm atop her knee while straightening her other leg along the ground. Her head tilts downward in reflection.

"You miss him, don't you?" I ask her, resting my chin on my forearms.

Lady Mediator, considering the question carefully, eventually speaks to break the quiet, her words shouldering solemnity. "I do, Yin. Every waking second of my life."

At that moment, I recall the events from two years, back when this crisis began. From Yang's journey for power to him and Lupin becoming the Infernal Beast's unwitting tools to his brush with death… I remember each and every one of these points as clearly as when they happened. I remember them because I have to.

Because I'm the one to blame for them.

Between me and my father, I've always been the biggest root to my brother's lack of self-worth. His insecurities and his anger. And it wasn't after losing him that I realized it. It only took his temporary death to hammer the point home.

I never want to go through it again. I never want to pay so steep a price ever again. Letting these thoughts ravage me, torture me, seems to be the best way to instill that into me.

My contemplating finished, I stand up and aid Lady Mediator to her feet. Beneath her steely exterior is a deft and gentle touch.

"I'm going back inside. There could be a cake waiting for me there," I say, bowing my head once more. "Won't you come, milady?" I offer a hand to her.

Politely, the Mediator shakes her head. "I'm afraid I must refuse, Yin. I'd rather not see other people for tonight. Do not worry about me, go and enjoy yourself."

"At least let me bring you something to eat," I insist. I'd feel pretty bad leaving her out here, cold and by herself. "How about a slice of cake? Or something to drink? You must be pretty famished."

The Mediator, enamored by the gesture, chuckles and puts her hands on her hips. "That would be nice. However, I believe you're forgetting one small, important detail." She points to her helm.

"Oh, right," I say, dumbstruck by her answer. "Well, if you ever need anything, just let me know. Anything at all."

"I appreciate your kindness." As I close in on the door, she speaks once again. "Cherish everything dear to you. Your brother is precious to you. Cherish him always, Master Yin, along with everything else dear to you."

I pause and breathe her sage words in, nodding my head slowly.

Then I head back into the dojo, now swarmed with even more guests. Soft, acoustic music plays through the speakers, by a band consisting of Lupin, Kitsune, Noah and Dad. The DJ is at the buffet table, helping himself to a mountainous pile of food before it's his turn again.

I listen to the song currently being performed. Noah's musical stylings have me enthralled, and my feet glide along the floor for a minute before stopping in the middle of the dance floor. Who knew he had such a captivating voice?

 _You and me, we made a vow  
For better or for worse  
I can't believe you let me down  
But the proof's in the way it hurts_

 _For months on end I've had my doubts  
Denying every tear  
I wish this would be over now  
But I know that I still need you here_

 _You say I'm crazy  
_ ' _Cause you don't think I know what you've done  
But when you call me baby  
I know I'm not the only one_

 _You've been so unavailable  
Now sadly I know why  
Your heart is unobtainable  
Even though Lord knows you kept mine_

 _You say I'm crazy  
_ ' _Cause you don't think I know what you've done  
But when you call me baby  
I know I'm not the only one_

 _I have loved you for many years  
Maybe I am just not enough  
You've made me realize my deepest fear  
By lying and tearing me up_

 _You say I'm crazy  
_ ' _Cause you don't think I know what you've done  
But when you call me baby  
I know I'm not the only one_

 _You say I'm crazy  
_ ' _Cause you don't think I know what you've done  
But when you call me baby  
I know I'm not the only one_

 _I know I'm not the only one_

 _I know I'm not the only one_

 _And I know…_

 _I know I'm not the only one_

Sam Smith. The thought that immediately springs into mind when I hear this song is me and Coop. He's nowhere to be seen, and thank God for that. Not that he's done anything to hurt me—besides corrupting my very being, which I've come to forgive—but these lyrics are one constant, insufferable reminder that he and I were going to fail eventually. That there is nothing in store for us in the future.

Yeah, it hurt a bit to learn this. That this 'thing' between us is superficial. Shallow. A mere crush instead of actual love; I _did_ like him more for his bad boy attitude than his noble acts. At least our friendship is still intact, which is more important to me anyway.

I laugh a little at this. At my habit of losing myself in my thoughts. At the sheer coincidence of this song playing—or maybe it wasn't a coincidence? Some of the people stare at me, understandably scared, but I just let it slide and laugh it off.

My brother is among the crowd. He approaches with delicate steps, carrying two marshmallow sticks in his hands. He offers me one cautiously, and I take it.

"You alright?" asks my brother, furrowing his brow and understandably weirded out.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," I say, embarrassed.

"If you say so," he replies sarcastically. Then his expression changes into one of delight. A mischievous mask. He cracks a smirk, as if someone had told him a really good joke. He says, "Well, look who's here."

"What? Who?"

I try to search for what my brother is referring to. It takes a while for me to scour this dense crowd of constantly moving guests, but I do spot him. His green fur, his long ears, his expensive-looking suit, his endearing smile. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him, and the insurmountable joy in me manifests into a wide smile.

He waves his hand and calls out to me, shuffling to where I am. Weaving across every partygoer in his path.

"Yuck!" I shout, throwing my arms around his waist as he approaches and leaning my head on him. On his rugged, tempered chest…

"Hey, babe," says my…boyfriend. Thinking of the word makes me giddy. "Happy birthday."

"You're here. Oh my God, you're really here," I say, with seemingly no control over my words or how I utter them. Our group of old friends making it is one thing, but this is just something else.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he says with a chuckle, his handling of his words delicate. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"Why, no. Absolutely not." I pull my head away to look into his amber eyes, but end up stammering like an idiot as well. I regain my cool, though, and add, "You really are incredible."

"But of course, my dear," he says, the 'my dear' at the end causing me to giggle. It sounds somewhat arrogant, but I don't complain. I can't, not when I'm looking him dead in those gorgeous eyes of his. When his deft hands are caressing my side and holding on to me, like a guardian. He looks over my shoulder and nods at Yang, who's looking at us with an amused gaze. Still smirking. "Sup, Yang?"

My brother's only response to that is to nod back and say, "Hey." He then takes to the buffet to grab some more food for himself, but I can tell that he's simply leaving the two of us to ourselves.

"I gotta say, this is some turnout," says Yuck as he observes the dojo around him. "You really outdid yourself."

"You've got Dad and company to thank for that," I correct him, his silk suit soft against my skin.

When I mention my father to him, the composure in his face is exchanged for something else. A new, less cool emotion takes over, his features now lightened and pale. "Speaking of which, where is he?" he asks, trying to retain his collectedness, but it doesn't work.

"He's on-stage." As soon as he hears this, his body tenses. To the sound of the music, I move him around so that his back is towards the stage. Up there, Dad chuckles at me, which annoys me a bit, but then nudges his head as a clue. Deciphering his gesture, I hold my smile and rub Yuck's arm to soothe him. He was doing so well up to now. "Lighten up," I encourage, slowly immersing myself in the tune. "My dad's not going to bite your head off, okay?"

"Yeah," says Yuck, still disconcerted. "I guess." Shivers rise from him and travel to my arm. I do my best not to let my annoyance overcome me, but it's not easy.

"I mean what's the worst that he can do to you?" I definitely shouldn't have asked that, because it makes him trembling even worse. Fed up, I put my foot down and grip him tightly. "Come on, Yuck. Don't do this. You've taken on much worse things than my father. I hate to come off as pushy, but I need you to pull through to make this work."

"I…" Yuck struggles, the rest of his words not quite able to come out. "I know. And you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I feel like the luckiest guy knowing that I'm with you, and I really want to make this work. I also want your father to trust me, but I've screwed up already. I'm off to a bad start."

"How?" I frown at him.

"By trying to waste you and your brother."

I don't get it. We shouldn't be having this discussion. This talk about trust. This is neither the time nor the place. Actually, there is no right time or place for this. We shouldn't be talking about this, period. As far as I know, he already gained plenty of trust with his change of heart. When he fought alongside us as opposed to against us.

Unless of course he means something else. Switching from one side to another is one thing, but this is a different story. Trying to make something out of what we have, taking that leap of faith simply by being by my side almost all the time, that's an issue set apart from, greater than, any battle fought, any wounds and scars endured. That is what I make out of this, and judging by his wavering demeanor, this must be what's bothering him.

As our conversation goes on, I feel something happening. His touch is becoming soft. Well, _softer_. And not in a pleasant way. His paw—no, his _whole body_ —flickers back and forth between a solid state and the horrid, liquid-y, eldritch form. Shit! Why here? Why now? What was he even thinking going down the bottom of that hole?

Thankfully, no one else besides me notices this. I should be screaming my head off that my dress is being ruined, but Yuck needs me more than I need a hasty change of clothes. I have to act quickly. I can't let this night turn into a disaster.

Luckily, his face is still intact, so I bring my paws up to his cheek and make my touch as loose as possible.

" _I_ trust you," I whisper to him, my lips quivering before fastening into a smile. "That's enough, right?"

I focus entirely on him, the world around us vanishing temporarily. I sense my gaze burrowing into his head, and his into mine. Our hearts come together and thump in unison, our breaths sweeping over the other. The tension dissipates from his body, his trembling coming to a halt. His touch returning to its calm, inviting and tender state.

These simple words are supposed to comfort him. But at the same time, I mean every last one of them. He may be born of Yang's and my worst qualities, but it doesn't mean that they're all he has. I've seen him prove his worth time and again. His actions in our battles, our conflicts, are all I need to see the distance he will go for our sake. For my sake. Those are all I need to be able to depend on him.

I hope this can come across to him. And it does. I can see it in the way he smiles back. Feel it in his swaying step, in his light gaze. This is the Yuck I want to see, to be with.

Hopefully that will be the last of tonight's hiccups. Feedback shrieks from the speakers, startling the guests—some of them spilling, spitting or gagging on their food and drink—bringing Yuck and I back to reality just in time for the birthday cake. Yang quickly joins me, and we marvel at the two-tier, frosting-and-candle-laden giant of perfection being hauled into the living room.

Lupin, who had caused the sharp sudden sounds with a few taps of his microphone, rounds the guests up around the cake. Like a shepherd wrangling his flock of sheep. Dad, Lupin, Yang and I gather in front of the cake for a family photo, the guests sing for us—with the band playing for us, no less—and my brother and I blow out the rows and rows of candles. At the very end is by far everyone's favorite part: getting a slice of the gargantuan cake.

The rest of the night goes smoothly, everything falling into place. The band takes their well-deserved break and grabs some cake for themselves, while the DJ goes back on-stage and gets to work on his turntables and laptop, the guests inevitably helping themselves to the dance floor.

I could go there, too, but instead head over to the kitchen with my brother and enjoy our respective slices of cake.

Our crew joins us shortly after, chatting it up, Lupin, Kitsune and Noah especially. Dad and Kit fix up a glass of water at the faucet, and Noah helps himself to the fridge where he grabs two bottles of beer, one for him and the other for Lupin.

"Sure is fun to dust the cobwebs off," Kitsune comments following a sip of her water.

"Got that right. Guess this bird's still got it. We should do this again more often, dontcha guys think?" says Noah, swigging his booze with hardly a pause. "Lu?" He pats his friend on the back with an easygoing demeanor.

Lupin snickers at the idea, obviously intrigued by it. "I'm all for it," he says, shrugging his shoulders. Holding his bottle by its end. He gulps some beer down and then looks at me and Yang. "Having fun?"

Yang, scarfing on his cake, tilts his head to face Lupin and swallows. "I'll say. This must have cost you both your arms and legs." This gets Lupin to snicker again and drink some more beer.

I notice Weiss coming in through the hallway and joining Kit at the opposite side of the dining table. I watch Kit giving her great granddaughter an affectionate rub on her head, and Weiss immersing herself in the gesture, when I hear Lupin directing his attention to me.

"What about you, Yin?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." My answer is delayed from me regaining my focus. "Must have taken you guys a long time to plan this out, huh?"

"You have no idea," Dad interjects, refilling his glass and leaning on the sink. He then faces the hallway and says, "Need something?"

One of the caterers stands patiently at the hallway with his hands clasped together. A sheet of paper dangles between his fingers. He clears his throat and breathes. "Um, yes, we do. If you're not busy, we should probably discuss your bills."

"Right now? Can't it wait until the night's over?" Dad looks not the least pleased by the man's intrusion.

"I'm afraid it can't. Our manager just gave us a call, and he's not exactly what I'd call 'patient'."

Taking a moment for himself, Dad sighs and eventually concedes with a groan. "Fine. Let's take this outside, then." He slogs from his spot at the kitchen to the caterer, Lu, Kit and Noah following suit, also just as miffed. They're soon out of our sights, with only Weiss remaining behind.

"We won't take long," assures Lupin, gazing over his shoulder.

With the five of them gone, I return to the remainder of my slice of cake, relishing the taste. The texture and flavor of blueberry and chocolate hitting every high note on my tongue. It's that good that Yang actually finishes it quicker than me and licks his plate clean of frosting. Soon he bolts to the living room to get another slice, leaving behind a blue blur in his trail.

Giggling at his sugar high, I feed myself one last serve and check my surroundings before licking my own plate as well. Apart from Weiss, no one else is here to see this savage display, so I lick and lick to my heart's content until there's nothing left to scoop up.

Speaking of Weiss, she crosses over to where I am and takes a seat on a chair next to me. She drums her fingers on the table four times before stopping and shines a smile.

"Y'know, I helped out with the planning, too," she says, probably meaning it as a joke.

"Oh, really? What was your contribution?" I ask, smiling cheekily as I alight my head on my interlocked paws.

"I wrote the invitations and mailed them out all across town." She actually means every word, and I giggle at this and take a sip of my glass of water.

"I bet you did," I play along, leaning on my backrest. Patting her on the shoulder.

Another bout of silence passes in which Weiss and I merely sit idly. I then start the conversation anew, broaching simple topics to get the two of us comfortable. I ask her about her life at home. How things are with her family, particularly with her mother and brother.

Weiss responds to every question I bring out in the open, answering each one of them happily. She tells about her mother's gradually improving condition; she had given up smoking just recently, or at least kept herself in check. She also talks of a new job that her brother Tyler had received. When I ask her what his new work involves, she doesn't have much to say; no one in her family has a clue as to what it is. Apparently, he _did_ promise to tell them sometime soon. Whatever it is, it most likely beats doing the daily grind at a tightly cramped music shop.

It's pleasantly surprising, all of this. Weiss' renewed strength, her renewed outlook. This is much different from two years ago, when her smile didn't last for even a second. At best, they dither for a moment before inevitably fading away. It must have had something to do with Miriam reuniting with her family. Either way, things seem to be looking up for her.

Yang reenters the dining area in the midst of our chat, his plate holding two enormous slices. As soon as he sits down, he immediately jabs his fork into one of the slices and pops a piece of it into his mouth. I spot a flush arising on Weiss's cheeks the second she sees him, and she hides it—or tries to, anyway—by darting her face to the side. She does regain her cool and looks at him straight, no longer blushing.

That was…weird.

Yang, taking note of her watchful eyes, slides his plate over to her. "Want some?" he asks, his lips framed with icing.

Weiss declines the offer with a lift of her paw and a sheepish giggle only a girl makes. "No, thanks."

Okay. That's two times in a row. That can't be a coincidence. I might be a bit dizzy—hey, I can only keep up with a hundred odd party animals in this place—so I take to the sink to clean my plate up as well as clear my head. The cool running water is especially smooth on my skin, dispelling any unnecessary thoughts into emptiness.

I gaze out the window and into the full moon, its glow putting me into a trance. The Mediator's words ring in the corners of my head. Cherish these moments, she says. Cherish them, as if they were about to slip from your fingertips. I cast a glance at Yang and Weiss, and embed them deep into my consciousness. No teaching in the Woo Foo records can surpass this in its importance.

Her other words resound in me. She had told me of how turbulence can befall a moment of peace. She told me to stay vigilant at all times. To keep a watchful eye on any and all forms of evil. I can't say that she doesn't have a point there, but I can't think of any other threat that is bigger, greater, than the Infernal Beast.

Is it so wrong of me to just enjoy this calm? Is it too much to ask that I make the most out of this peace before it ends again? I'm not a horrible person or anything, yet I wouldn't really call myself a saint or something along those lines.

But for once, I just want to cast my cares aside. Immerse myself in the present instead of letting the past take its toll on me or fuss about a future that may not even come to be.

That's all I ask for. It can't be _that_ big of a request.


	4. ひさしぶりだね　- Long time no see

_**Swan Song**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin**

 _Chapter 4 – ひさしぶりだね (Long Time No See)_

* * *

"You sure you don't need any help cleaning up?"

I register the question into my head for what is the third time in a row now. "We have it covered," I answer as I roll my eyes and grin, putting a calculator in my hand down on the dining table.

"I don't know," Yang persists. "This looks worse than our room. Well, my side, anyway. If you need an extra set of hands, just—"

"Goodnight, Yang," I say before he gets a chance to finish. He must have listened because footsteps thump from the stairs all the way to the second floor. I chuckle a bit and continue tinkering away at my calculator. "Now, where were we?"

Tonight's celebration was definitely something to remember. It's left us not only with a disheveled dojo in need of some serious cleaning up—streamers, cups, plates, utensils and other kinds of litter having accumulated on the floor—but also quite the financial blow. Wads of cash are arranged before me on the table to pay off expenses for the party.

The whole dojo has reverted back from the eclectic kaleidoscope of colors to its usual palette of greens, oranges, yellows and beige. Lupin, Kitsune, Noah and a few of our friends are scattered across the place getting some mopping, scrubbing, sweeping and garbage-collecting done, allowing me to focus on getting this transaction done. The loud, upbeat music and cheering have been replaced by the much softer sounds of sweeping brooms, clattering plastic and metal and calculator keys clicking.

I make these observations and then promptly type numbers on my calculator.

 _Four hundred for equipment._

 _Twelve for catering._

 _Two for the DJ._

 _Nine for set up._

 _Holy crap_ , I think, a little intimidated by the numbers showing on the screen. Vaguely intrigued, as shown by a snicker I let slip from my tongue. Even to a Woo Foo knight, money can be a weakness.

As I arrive at the grand total, a knocking sound disrupts me. I make for the door, holding the clumps of cash in one hand.

"I got it," I say to no one in particular, assuming that everyone down here gets the message. The knocking continues. I exhale. "Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. Don't get your shorts knotted up."

Both doors part to the side, and standing in front of me is an arctic fox slightly taller, slimmer and of a much younger age than I. As if there weren't enough whippersnappers in this dojo. His face is familiar, so I guess he gets a pass because of it.

A second later, he is joined by a female snow leopard with an almost-perpetual glower. They're both wearing the same set of clothes – a military officer's uniform. Buttoned jacket, white dress shirt inside, epaulettes, slacks and black shoes. I don't recognize this particular getup from any of the military services I've heard of. The pins and badges attached to them appear legitimate, though.

"Good evening," says the fox, his appearance ringing bells that I can't get yet. "Yo, was it?"

A vague idea dawns in me. "That's me, alright. And you're…Tyler?" I ask, folding my arms and leaning on the doorframe. He confirms it with a nod. Weiss's older brother. "Um… Come on in." Even though I'm not expecting any more visitor tonight—and didn't even want any, period—I motion for him and his companion to enter. Again, only because he's familiar.

As soon as he's within their sights, Kitsune and Weiss drop their chores to greet him. Weiss runs over and leaps at him in an embrace, crying out 'big brother!' in a sickeningly endearing fashion. I stay by the sidelines to let them have a moment to talk a bit before leading him and the snow leopard across the hall.

Over at the dining area, we take a seat by the table. Tyler sits to my right, and the female feline to my left. Her hardened expression has not left its place, and those narrow eyes of hers impart a coarse feeling across every part of my body.

"Oops, my bad. Rain, Yo. Yo, this is Rain, my partner" says Tyler, stumbling where he sits. Gesturing with his hand as he introduces us to the other. He sets her eyes on her and adds, "Well, go on. Say something." The way he says this is like how someone speaks to an animal. Well, we're all animals here, but you get the point.

Rain reaches out a paw to me, her face unchanging. We shake hands and she says to me in a matching tone of voice, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, Rain." I nod my head at her and smile lightly, even if it does nothing to alter her mood. I make my way to a pantry in the kitchen and reach inside for three glasses. "Your sister and great grandmother should be done soon. In the meantime, care for a drink?"

"Nah, I'm good. Rain?" Tyler utters politely, looking back at Rain.

"I think I'll pass, too," says Rain, arms folded and head tilted downwards. At least she's not mute.

I fill up the glasses in my hand anyway and levitate them to the table, one for each of us. "Just in case."

Back at the table, Tyler clasps his hands together and rests them atop the wooden surface. "Thanks, I guess." Five seconds pass before he speaks again. "Actually, Yo, we're also here because there's something we want to discuss with you."

My stomach slightly clenches. I can't ignore the feeling if I tried. Whatever this matter Tyler and Rain have on their hands is, I get the feeling that it must be something that not a lot of people know about. That only I know of. It must be important, since these two went out of their way to come to this place, and in the middle of the night, no less.

"Me?" I ask.

Tyler rubs his paws together, clasps them and then rests his chin on his knuckles. "We could use your, um…expertise. Seeing as you've been here for God-knows-how-long and you were recently made a Woo Foo Grandmaster, Rain and I figured you might know a thing or two about our current situation. You see—"

"It's about what happened two years ago," Rain joins in, making no bones about it. Raising her head a little to look at me.

The words 'two years ago' piques my interest. I lean towards the table, gather my thoughts and say, "Go on."

"This, erm…Infernal Beast. You've fought it before," says Tyler, whose posture has become laidback, slouching a little against his backrest.

"Yes. I have," I say with caution, crooking my brow. Now that he's brought up the Infernal Beast, he has my complete attention. Every time I hear even a passing mention of it, I have no choice but to invest myself in the matter. "You were there at the ceremony, if memory serves me, so you probably know that alre—"

"I mean you and that thing go way back. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but your first encounter happened over one hundred years ago when you were just sixteen years old." He says this all plainly, his inflections non-existent, cutting straight to the chase just like his partner.

This Tyler is different from the one I'm used to. In his voice is a power, a conviction, that I don't really associate him with. Behind those green eyes, I see someone else. Not the boy bound to his duties to his family, but a man with direction. A man who chases after his goal like a dog chases its own tail.

I should be impressed by this. I should be honored that he knows me. Who I am, the reputation I've gained over the years and what I've done to earn that reputation. But I am more curious and, to be frank, weary than I am impressed _or_ honored.

Clearing my throat, I look at the two of them and steel my expression. "Well, I'm flattered that you've done your homework about me, but what exactly does something from the past have to do with today?" It's kind of strange to hear a statement like that coming out of me, of all people. The answers are right in front of me, where they've always been, yet here I am asking this question like they aren't.

Tyler takes out a sheet of paper from his inner pocket as a response to my question. He turns it around, revealing it to be a photograph of some sort, and sets it down on the table.

I bring the photograph to the middle of the table, directly underneath the light bulb above our heads.

"This was taken last week by one of our satellites. It's a picture of an islet southeast off the coast of this country. One among a network of them," says Tyler, enunciating his words. "Notice something there?"

I look at where he's pointing his finger. Hidden within the islet's vegetation is a silhouette – a person. It's hard to make anything out because of how blurred the picture is. But even then, this man's—or woman's—identity is concealed by a cloak on its back, so it's not like a better quality's going to solve anything.

Whoever this person is, he or she strikes me as peculiar. Maybe even familiar. This must be a castaway. But from what little I can gather, a couple of factors say otherwise. This is a picture of the entire islet, not just a portion of it. No wreckage that even points to being stranded in a place like this is shown here. No plane crash, no shipwreck, nothing. Moreover, if this person _is_ stranded, then he or she would have tried to make an escape, but once again, nothing here indicates that. There's no makeshift raft by the shore.

If anything, my guess is that this figure somehow arrived on this meager piece of land. I don't know how, but it just is. And given the things I've encountered in my life, the impossible usually ends up being…well, possible.

"I don't understand," I say in a glass-half-full sort of way. "What would a person be doing on an islet?" I lean closer to and soak up more of the picture to try and make some sense out of it. "And how exactly does the Infernal Beast fit into this?"

"I was just getting to that," says Tyler, who whips out another photograph from the pocket of his pants. He moves it closer for me to inspect. " _This_ was taken three days ago." His eyes are trained solely on the picture, squinting, showing anticipation.

And I can see why. This is another picture of the islet and the veiled stranger, except here the islet has been split perfectly in the middle. Both halves are partially sunken in the ocean, and at the center is the hooded person standing on the surface of the water. Poised in a fighting stance. The posture of a martial artist. A Woo Foo Knight.

Rain then brings out her own pictures from her person. These were also taken in the past few days, and they depict what has become of the other neighboring islets. Destroyed. Obliterated. Just like the first one. Some slightly sunken, the others fully submerged without a single trace of them to be seen. They were all decimated the same way: with a perfect slice at the center. And they always have the mystery person showing that same pose, that same form. The last picture in this gallery sees him or her standing triumphantly, menacingly, atop the last islet's remains. Gazing at the vast ocean in front of him.

Having incredible power is one thing, but to needlessly flaunt it is just excessive. It makes one wonder how one could acquire this sort of strength in the first place.

"We've been keeping tabs on this guy lately," starts Tyler, eyeing the haphazard collage of pictures. "Everything about him just spells trouble."

"What makes you say that?" I ask as I take a sip of my water.

"Not sure. Something about him just rubs me the wrong way. I know it looks like we're grasping at straws, and it's unfair considering what you bunch have had to go through, but you can never be too careful with an odd character like The Cloak here."

"'The Cloak'?" I raise an eyebrow and smirk at the nickname.

"Hey, we need to give the guy some kind of identity if we plan on keeping an eye on him, don't we?" Tyler shrugs and chuckles, acknowledging the silliness of the name. "But yeah, what do you think, Yo?"

Rain and Tyler gaze at me and lean forward.

A fellow warrior on some uncharted part of the ocean, with talent and power that equals or even surpasses that of a Woo Foo Master. It's almost surreal that someone trained in our ancient art could be as powerful as me or my fellow Pioneers. As powerful as my sons. He could be an ally to us or a dangerous adversary to be weary of.

I'm about to find out the answer…

After a moment of consideration, I clear my throat and exhale. "Okay. I still don't know what the Infernal Beast has to do with any of this."

"Take a closer look," says Rain, bringing one picture nearer as an example and tapping on it repeatedly. "Notice something?"

I lean my head towards it and squint my eyes. I shake my head at her, and she lifts the picture up and tilts it into an angle. I thankfully stay composed, but to my horror, I do notice something from this position.

Behind 'The Cloak' as he throws his arm down is a dark afterimage comprised of canine traits. A dog-like snout, a gaping maw with pointed fangs and gleaming globes for eyes. I jot these features down in my brain and hold myself from shivering in my spine. The other pictures have this, too, with all kinds of dog features like a flailing tail and a sharp-nailed paw. And in the final picture, a bank of black clouds flitters above and around him.

Last I remembered, Fog is a substance invisible to the naked eye. When I ask Tyler how they managed to capture something like this, his response is that it's because of their specially-designed technology that allows them to tackle strange phenomena such as this one. It's quite vague, but I suppose this means that the weight behind this situation is finally sinking in. Sinking _back_ in. That people realize not to treat any of this like a joke, not a game.

Because it isn't. The Infernal Beast has claimed more lives than I can count. Just because this…monster has been slain does not mean the threat of it is completely erased. Even when the Beast is gone, its presence, its influence, will stay deeply seated in the face of this world. Somehow, someway, whether near or far, whether today or tomorrow, it will rear its ugly head and keep a firm grasp on all life.

I remember this…as Makai, the Beast himself, had told me when I fought him one hundred years ago. For all his treachery, deceit, cunning and underhandedness, there's always a grain of truth in everything he says. Everything. And the words he said to me then could not be any truer than now.

"How long have you been keeping an eye on him?" I ask, appearing calm to the both of them. But my clenched fist trembling beneath the table begs to differ.

"Three weeks," says Rain.

"Direct orders from our commanding officer," Tyler adds, drinking the last of his water.

"Can I meet him? I want to have a chat with him and see if he knows what he's up against."

"Sorry, no can do. Classified stuff and all. General admission into our headquarters isn't usually allowed." Five seconds of silence and averting his eyes to an empty part of the table, and he looks up to face me. "Not to mention that he's a very busy man. And trust us when we say we have this under wraps."

I tap my foot on the floor to a rhythm. To say I'm skeptical is putting it lightly. The determination of these two is an admirable thing, but it can get them killed as easily as it can help them. By the looks of it, they don't seem to be one hundred percent savvy to what they're up against. And in the heat of conflict, that meager margin of error can end up deciding the outcome.

I want to lend a hand. To ensure that nothing goes awry. I want to help however way I can. Something, anything, will be good. This _was_ my struggle first, after all.

"Well, if I can't meet your commanding officer, I at least want to know where you got all this information from."

After some indefinite amount of time, Tyler stands from his chair and shines a light grin. "Funny you should ask me that, and I'm glad you did," he says. "The person who told me everything happens to be waiting at the back of my car. I'll go grab her for you." He saunters out the door promptly, leaving me and Rain waiting in our seats.

'Her'? He couldn't mean…

Tyler reenters the dojo, and I get up to see past the door. He makes his way back to the dining room, ushering someone inside. From the pitch black of the night, an old face enters this sacred building. And along with her, a torrent of memories crashing down on me, flooding into my brain. Pleasant recollections of a time gone by. A time I occasionally wish would return. Her red fur, her cobalt eyes, her canine ears, her gracious tail and her bright disposition are still intact from when I last saw her.

Upon her entry, the dojo goes silent for a second time. Once again, Weiss and Kitsune drop their duties and approach this person. Weiss leaps at her for an embrace, while Kitsune remains at the side, more reserved compared to her great granddaughter. Their joyous proclamation spreads across the place, reaching all of our ears.

"Great Nan Miriam!"

"Mother?"

I seat the words deeply in the depths of my mind. I am at a loss for words. I'm too stunned by the sight before my eyes to even twitch. My heart skips multiple beats, and my breath has seemingly stopped.

"What have we got here? This ain't a dojo, it's a freaking madhouse. Had I known, I'd have slipped into something more appropriate and dropped on by. Don't let outward appearances fool you, I'm still fit as a fiddle." She chuckles at her statement, and so do Weiss and Kit. It seems that her energy, her spirit, hasn't left her. "I'm guessing you've been helping out with cleaning up, right?"

"Yup." Weiss nods her head, Kitsune rustling it affectionately from behind.

And then, she draws closer to where I stand. For the first time in so long, she and I are face to face. Her eyes fall upon mine, and she is as taken as I am. The world around us stands perfectly still. Our heartbeats become one at this very moment. Neither of us move nor utter a peep. We focus only on each other, taking in every little detail. She's my friend. My best friend.

Eventually, her mouth moves. The silence is broken.

"Woo Foo Grandmaster Yo," she speaks gently, with a pining, a yearning spanning an entire lifetime.

I flinch for a second, but I hold my ground and nod. "Woo Foo Master Miriam." Saying that very name imparts a sweet, nectarous pang on my tongue. A warm, tender tinge on my soul. I keep steady and savor the feeling, savor this juncture.

Slowly, she brings a fist into the palm of her other hand and bows in a wide arc. "Long time no see. An honor to meet you again."

I repeat the gesture, lowering my voice to her level. "Likewise."

After holding our posture for ten or so seconds, Miriam looks up at me and cracks that smile I've seen so much of. That infectious smile that swells with spirit.

"Oh, enough with the pleasantries. Come here, you overgrown lug," she declares jubilantly, approaching me with open arms. Acting more like the lively, upbeat and energetic vulpine I know all too well, her contagious elation working into my system.

Miriam and I meet in an embrace, and she giggles, putting her heart into it. I laugh along with her, the two of us overcome with joy. Even at an old age, her spirit, her flair for life, has not diminished. The mere appearance of her is all that's needed to brighten up any situation, and it has not changed since last I saw her.

I still can't believe it. One of my oldest friends, one of my comrades-in-arms, is alive and kicking. And here we both are, after so many years apart. It might not have been of my own choosing, but being wrapped in her arms makes me feel rather guilty for forgetting about her. About my wife. My _wives_. Without even an inkling to revisit my past life, regardless of how it may hurt. Some friend I am.

About a minute in of just hugging each other tightly, she pulls away, sniffles and wipes the corner of her eye. "Sorry about that," she remarks, trying to contain her emotions. After she gets them under wraps, she grabs hold of my arms and inspects my entire person. "Look at you. Oh my goodness, you've changed. Erm…" She hesitates when she sees the saggy sack I call a stomach, her smile wavering and reappearing. "You still look fantastic in my book." She pats the gut in an affectionate fashion.

"Gee, thanks," I say dryly, knowing her intention to be pure. I hold one of her paws, taking my turn to inspect her. "Seems you've aged gracefully yourself." I chuckle, meaning it both as a tease and a compliment.

"I have my ways," says Miriam with a sly tongue.

She's about to go further, but Tyler clears his throat to cut the chatter short. He's been leaning on the wall this whole time, watching us with an amused look on his face. He knew this was coming. Miriam had told him what he needed to know and more. He came to her, his ancestor, and it led him to me. And _that_ , in turn,led Miriam and I back together.

"Great Nan, I hate to interrupt this heartfelt reunion, but we should really get down to business now," he says, slightly amused moving away from the wall. His hands tucked in his pockets.

The four of us move to the dining table, where we each take a chair to sit on and discuss the situation some more. The photographs are still laid out, scattered, on the table, and Miriam picks one of them up and inspects it for what I'm sure is not the first time. She's been in the loop longer than me, and naturally knows more of it than I do.

But she and the other Pioneers had perceived me a leader, thinking I had the qualities of one. I can't say I disagree; Woo Foo makes up a majority of my life, so there weren't any surprises there. That is why she sent Tyler to see me. And that is why I have to take a stand.

"I'm flattered that you came to me, you two," I comment, folding my arms. Staring long and hard at the photographs. "Is there anything else I can do to help out?"

"We should be fine, thanks," says Rain, resting her head against her paws. "We have everything we need. Just tell us what course of action you would take in this situation."

My answer to the query is simple. I advise both Rain and Tyler to keep an eye on this person at all times, as well as to be on the lookout for any hotspots with a heavy volume of Fog. Knowing what the stuff can do to a person, I expect that he'll make his way to these places to gather even more of it.

"So what does your CO want with this guy anyway?" I ask, dropping the picture back on the table. "Were you asked to apprehend him? Or are you supposed to take him out?" If they're as equipped as they say they are, I shouldn't have any reason to doubt them any further.

"He needs him alive," answers Tyler. "Says that there are more of him out there, and if we don't act as soon as possible, then they'll pose a significant threat."

That, I don't disagree with.

Fog has ruined as many lives as the Infernal Beast. Death is often seen as a more desirable choice compared to being influenced by it, and I am not surprised.

The deadliest drug in the world can't even dare to match the effects this filth has had. Not only on the fools who invoke its power, but on the innocents who have suffered as a result. I have seen stories of it in every archive, every book and scroll in Woo Foo recorded, and I have seen it firsthand. Redemption is a blessing that a few such people who sought out this wretched substance can get, and my two sons, Yang and Lupin, are among that lucky minority. The rest of them have suffered consequences that are almost irreversible.

Actually, no. There _is_ one other person fortunate enough to be saved – Maria. My companion, my late wife, another one of the Pioneer. Often dubbed the strongest amongst the four of us. She has a much better understanding of Fog than anyone in our band. She'd most likely know more about the situation. If she were still here, she'd tell these two what to do and how to do it.

"Guess we're good to go," says Rain, staying frank and straight to the point. Making no bones about anything. "Thanks, Yo."

"That's _Grandmaster_ Yo to you, junior," I reply. "Anyway, you guys sure you don't need an extra pair of hands?" I attempt again.

"We'll be fine. If something new comes up, then we'll make sure you're the first person we take it up to," adds Tyler, his resolve a gleaming fire in his eyes. "And no disrespect, but we don't want you to overwork yourself." I know he means well, but I'm still a little disappointed, not to mention insulted.

"Alright, then. Have it your way." I shrug at them

Ten seconds of silence fleet by, and Rain stands from her chair. When Tyler asks what the problem is, her answer is that they have what they came for. That the two of them should simply wait somewhere. Outside in his car, or just at the living room. Anywhere, it doesn't matter. As long as Miriam and I are alone. It doesn't occur to me until after I do a double take, but Tyler figures it out right away.

Realizing this, I laugh lightly and nod at Rain as a sign of thanks. She and Tyler stride out of the dining area, heading to another part of the dojo. Leaving me and my vulpine friend to ourselves, to share some idle chatter about banal—and not so banal—topics.

"Some family tree you've got, Mimi," I remark, smirking. One leg crossed over the other under the table. "Must be pretty proud of yourself."

"I'll say. They're good kids, Weiss and Tyler. You'd know how it feels, checkerboard," she says, and I think about my own children. About the pride I have in them.

Maria must have been watching over me this whole time, smiling. Wherever Selene may be, she'd be happy too at how the twins turned out. It gets me to smile and chuckle.

"What?" asks Miriam as she mirrors my grin.

"Nothing. 'Checkerboard'. I can't remember the last time someone called me that. Do you?"

"Haven't got a clue. Probably around the same time you last called me 'Mimi'."

I rest my elbow on the table and my head atop my knuckles. "It's a shame that those two won't let us do anything else other than sit by. Sure would be nice to see some action again, for old times' sake."

"Maybe, but y'know, Tyler _does_ have a point. You've been through so much, Yo, and getting overworked isn't helping you any. Besides, there are other ways to enjoy someone's company."

"Like what?"

She rises from her seat and peers at the kitchen behind me, heading towards that direction.

There, Miriam offers to make some tea for the both of us, to which I oblige plainly. A pillar of steam ascends from the kettle in a whistle, water bubbling audibly from inside. From her pocket, she fishes out a bunch of leaves and crushes them in the palm of her paw. She pops them into the kettle, and out of the spout comes a deep green stream, flowing into a pair of mugs she had taken out of the cupboard.

Our conversation continues in the midst of all this. We explain to each other the current state of our respective lives. In the time that she has been away from me, she's gotten into a number of artistic endeavors, namely pottery and fashion. The latter, in particular, has been a passion of hers since our teenage years.

I, on the other hand, let her in on my 'private stash'. She disconcertedly confuses the term for a, um…porn stash—seriously, where the hell did that come from?—when really I'm referring to a wine collection I've secretly kept in the Armory downstairs. As soon as a single word about it comes out, Miriam's fascination grows a hundred fold, asking me questions such as 'what brand', 'how much', 'how did I get it' and the like.

Back at the table, we indulge in the warm, enriching taste of ginseng. The tea flows down my throat and spreads across my body, flushing my soul out of any impurities. Drawing a sigh out of my mouth.

She and I talk some more over our drink, the initial elation wearing off. For me, not for her. Miriam makes a passing comment of how it brings back ten years. I, however, have a new thought brewing in my head. One that has been waiting there, waiting to be mentioned, taking its toll on me as it did. It's a long time coming, but better to get it out in the open now than not at all.

"Isn't this nice, Yo? The two of us, having tea in the middle of the night?"

I sigh, counting my breaths, inhaling the ginseng. "Miriam?" The name goes unregistered, unnoticed.

"Sure I could have brought some honey over, but there's really no need."

"Miriam."

"Next time, I'll bring over some booze. And not just ordinary booze, but the finest red wine anyone can get their hands on. We're talking grown from a vineyard and squeezed from the best grapes ever. You're going to love it, I assur—"

"Miriam!" I raise my voice that time, and she stops gabbing. She faces me, her smile fading away as I put a hand over hers. "I know."

"Huh?"

"I know what you did and why you did it." The statement gets her to quiet herself. She isn't exactly the type to hold still, so the fact that she's doing so now means she's aware of what I'm talking about. Its importance.

"Are you mad?" Miriam asks cautiously, bringing her arms close to her bosom protectively. Her features are softer now, afraid of the response she'll receive.

I ponder on this—on her weary eyes, her ajar mouth, the desperation in her question—before shaking my head at her and gently flashing a smile at her.

Miriam sways her face away from me, her mouth quivering. I perch a hand on her lap so that she can see me. So that she knows that there is no ill will whatsoever. So I can say to her squarely…

"Thank you." It's no surprise that she finds my saying that confusing, so I continue in order to clear it out. "Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for taking away the pain. I can imagine how hard it was for you to have to do it."

Friendships are built on many foundations, and sacrifices are one of them. In erasing the hurt of losing my beloved that has eaten away at me, in trying to pull me out of my despair, Miriam risked also erasing herself from my memory. Both her and Selene. This is a sacrifice that no other person would make. An act of selflessness that must be treasured.

As far as I can see, their sacrifice did not go in vain. I'm alive because of them. This world works in a very strange way, but I don't question it. Not when these events have eventually brought us back after so long.

"Which is why I swear to face the pain for as long as I live. Everything I do, every mistake I make, I'm going to live with them. I won't have you make that sacrifice ever again."

Taking my words to heart, Miriam wipes her eye and sniffles. She cracks a smile, which looks even better on her now than it did a while ago.

"You always _were_ the best of us, checkerboard," she replies, her smile wavering slightly. "Even Mary said so herself."

"Did she, now?"

"You'd best believe it." She resumes with her tea, forgetting how scorching hot it is. Burning her tongue and her lips in the process. "Yeowch!"

"Here." I pass her a glass of water after chuckling at her misfortune. She downs the whole thing, exhaling heavily. "You alright?" She nods her head at me.

Weiss and Kitsune enter the dining room with their brooms in their hands, the cleaning done and dusted according to them. They tell us they're ready to go, and Miriam stands up and finishes the last few drops of her tea. She bids me farewell as the three of them stride out the door, Weiss moving, skipping, faster than her elders.

I'm joined by Lupin and Noah, the latter also calling it a night and making his exit out the door. On his way across the front yard, he puts his biker's helmet on him. Lupin and I watch our friends leave, the fox family in their trusty station wagon and Noah in his motorcycle.

After they've gone, I pick up the slack and take the cleaning supplies into my hand, about to put them back where they came from. I decline Lupin's offer to help and advise him to get some shut eye. Still he insists, but I assure him that I'll be fine. I hear his footsteps as he ascends the stairs and proceeds to his room.

The dojo is soon quiet, with me the only one wide awake. I go ahead and put away every broom, mop and cloth. As I'm heading up the stairs about to get some sleep, I ponder on the astonishing turn of events of the night.

Although I'm beyond ecstatic to know she's alive and well, Miriam showing up after years, decades, of going into hiding can't be anything short of a coincidence. I can feel it in my gut, in my chest. Things happen for a reason, and her reappearance into my life is no different.

In my room, I huddle into my bed, tucking myself into my sheets. Another thought dawns in my head. I hear Tyler's and Miriam's voices repeating something they told me a while ago. Something about not worrying myself and letting someone else handle the problem. How I've endured so much and I shouldn't overwork myself.

For as long as I can remember, people have given these advices to me. They know how tied I am to my responsibility as a Woo Foo Knight. They know my devotion, my dedication, to my cause. Yet, their words have always gone unheeded. They've always fallen on deaf ears. And even after the exhaustion, the fatigue—physical, mental and spiritual—catch up with me, I stubbornly ignore these signs, too.

I should listen, for a change. To these signs, to these advices. It's about time that I did. Lord knows I'm not getting any younger.

Maybe. Just maybe…


	5. A brand new threat

_**Swan Song**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin  
**

Chapter 5 – A brand new threat

* * *

" _Gracias_ , _amigo_."

" _De nada. Hasta luego._ "

I see Yang walking out of the restaurant, waving at the vendor that had just served him. Spanish isn't exactly my forte, but I do know that it's just a typical 'thank you' and 'you're welcome' routine. He leaves through the front door with three aluminum-covered bundles and hands them out. One for him, one for Yin and one for me. The smell of meat flitters from inside the bundle and enters my nose, my senses piqued.

Yang takes his seat on our table, rubbing his paws together. He undoes the aluminum foil to reveal some kind of fresh, aromatic, thick-looking bread with a few brown spots here and there, steam rising from its tip. Yin does the same, except she paces herself and neatly parts the aluminum to the left and right.

As they go ahead and take bite after bite, I lay my food down on the table and gently unwrap the aluminum. It's exactly the same as theirs, a bread-based product neatly folded this way and that. I bring the thing close to my snout and take in the fresh scent in full. I poke it in the middle with my finger. It's so soft. Yet it's hard as an eggshell.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Yang, his speech garbled. "Dig in."

I almost put this bread into my mouth, but hold back at the last second.

Yin stops mid-meal and crooks an eyebrow at me. She rolls her eyes, smirks and tells me, "Don't tell me you've never seen a burrito in your life."

"I have, actually. I've just never had one," I say to her.

"Okay," she says in sing-song, assuming that I'm making it up.

Before I can actually eat the thing, I give it one last look. Yin and Yang—well, mostly Yang—had told me about their 'favorite' Mexican restaurant. Earlier today, he boasted about how amazing the food was and how their burritos are 'subliminal works of art', as he so boldly put it. Any claim so big could only be too good to be true, so I had to see it with my own two eyes.

That's how we ended up here. I have to say, this looks like any other ordinary burrito I've seen. Maybe it'll taste better than it looks.

Raising the thing in the air, I wave it around and hold it against my mouth.

"Here goes nothing," I exclaim, nudging my head to the side.

One meager chomp is as much as I give the burrito. One meager chomp is all that's needed for me to believe the hype. I take my time to let my tongue take it all in. The tortilla, the pieces of chicken, jalapeños, rice, sour cream, cheese, lettuce and salsa. A blissful moan passes through my lips. The taste is so strong. So good. I want some more.

The pleasured noises I make are punctuated by the euphoric smile that I crack. I take another bite, careful not to let any scraps fall off.

"Told ya. Best burritos in town," says Yang with a smirk, proud to be proven right.

"You got me there, Yang."

Like the canine that I am, I munch and munch and munch like no tomorrow, all the while the rabbit twins chuckle at my voracious spectacle. Neither of them have seen me like this, not even in the midst of battle. I can feel many sets of eyes watching me, thinking how uncivilized I must be. Who cares if they're looking?

In a matter of seconds, I'm down to the last quarter of my burrito. Pieces of chicken, grains of rice and drips of salsa are gushing out of the tortilla and onto the aluminum. I'm prepping myself for one last serve, until my tongue is struck by a sharp pang. I drop the foil on the table and frantically sputter out scraps of food, desperate to get that burning, stinging sensation off of my taste buds. Fanning my mouth doesn't do anything at all, so I don't know why I bother doing it at all.

Yang passes a glass of ice cold water over to me. Without a second thought, I grab the glass and swig down the water in one go, catching as much of my breath as I can. My heart races in sync with every inhale and exhale.

"Holy shit," I say, panting like crazy. Sweat building on my paws and in my mouth.

Yin and Yang, who have been watching me, giggle to themselves, the former shaking her head and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Gets them every time," the pink rabbit comments, her cheeks puffing from her smile. "You should know better than to eat an entire spicy burrito that fast."

"Feeling any better, Lu?" asks Yang, rubbing my shoulder.

"I should be. But next time, warn me, will ya?" I say to him in as miffed a tone as I can, but end up grinning back at him and eventually laughing along with him.

In the next ten or so minutes, the twins finish the rest of their respective burritos. At one point, I think I even see their stomachs bulging underneath their shirts. After simmering down from their post-meal euphoria, they get up from their chairs and pretty much drag me off of mine.

The three of us make our way from the restaurant to a simple, casual stroll along the streets of the town. We don't stop anywhere in particular; none of us have the entire day mapped. That's probably because of how vague our father was when he told us three to spend the day out together. Either that, or even after two years, the twins and I have yet to get used to this newly discovered relationship.

Anyway, all we have to rely on is our instinct, which leads us to the local park. As good a place as any for us to go, I suppose.

Not that I'm really complaining, though. Not that my half-siblings are complaining, either. This sharp change in the status quo—the three of us being siblings, this time of peace, this sense of contentment that I hadn't felt in so long—is nothing we can't get used to.

Yin, Yang and I walk around the park to admire the scenery around us. To take in the tranquility and relish it in full. Again, this all appears so surreal to me. Like a dream, or a fairy tale. Again, I remind myself that all of this is indeed real. That nothing in the world can possibly ruin this.

The twins go ahead of me and race towards the playground to claim a swing set for themselves. I follow them while skirting past the children and their parents, flashing a smile and a chuckle when I feel that the need arises. Yang goes ahead and propels himself into the air, while his sister does the same a second later. Some things just won't change.

"Bet you can't go higher than this," Yang challenges, a fierce grin on his face. Launching himself higher and higher.

"Don't be so sure about that," Yin shouts back, flinging her swing in an attempt to outdo her brother. Using her Woo Foo magic as a bit of leverage.

Soon enough, Yang resorts to his Woo Foo too, bringing his chair high and past the upper bar. When he sees how high he's gotten, he leaps off his chair in a somersault and lands squarely on his feet.

"Ta-da!" says Yang, ever the show-off. Taking a gentlemanly bow.

Yin even says to him plainly. "Show-off." She gets off her swing and laughs a little, and eventually, so does her brother. I take her place on the swing, holding the chain tightly, and join in their laughter, but cut myself off abruptly and tilt my head downwards.

So far, this isn't turning out to be that bad. Or maybe it's because I have absolutely no clue as to what being, having, a sibling really means. What a brother and sister pair is really like. All I have are my observations. Everything I've gathered in all my years of living. But they aren't enough. This is one of those things that can't be learned mechanically. It's something you pick up and nurture along the way. It's a simple matter that needlessly I overcomplicate.

It probably has to do with the fact that I'm impatient. That I want things to go my way as soon as possible. That was what I used to be like. Who knows? Maybe I'm still like that. It's one of the reasons why I went wayward. It's one of the things that caused the wedge between me and Yo to open. Perhaps. I don't know.

What I do know is that I want to give _this_ a chance. I want to make the most out of this. This is my fresh start, my second chance. My clean slate. Yin, Yang and myself, I want to make this work. I believe it _can_ work. And apparently, they do too.

"What's the plan now?" asks Yin, her laughter coming to an end. Clasping her paws together.

"Don't really know," Yang replies, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes light up briefly before dimming once again. "Nah, forget it."

"Got something in mind?" I ask him, swinging gently.

"Yeah, but you probably wouldn't like it." He shakes his head rapidly and crinkles his countenance.

"Come on, say it," Yin urges, leaning against the vertical bar near her with her paws behind her head.

"I was thinking we'd spend the rest of the afternoon at the arcade." Our five second silence following his statement gives him the wrong idea, and he adds, "See? Told you guys you wouldn't like it."

"We didn't say that," I tell him, getting off the swing and tucking my paws in my pants. "As a matter of fact, I'm all for it. Besides, I think I owe you a little bit of payback."

I remember Yang taking me to an arcade two years ago, before this time of calm. Back when he and I were carrying out Makai's bidding. It was after his training that he asked me—begged me—if we could go there. The word 'arcade' was somewhat new to me then. I didn't know it even existed, let alone what it meant. I was a fast learner, and the instant he brought me there, I quickly picked up on it. But of course, my emotions were always my worst enemies, the most noticeable of them being pride. It was out of that pride that I challenged him to a racing video game, which turned out to be one of his best, if not his absolute best, and lost.

My bringing that tidbit up surprises him, and he answers with, "Yeah, right. Good luck with that." He chuckles and smiles at me smugly, like he knows the outcome long before it has been decided. After his short bout of laughter, he looks at his sister and asks, "Well, sis? What's it gonna be?"

Yin lets out a groan, but not of the annoyed kind. It's more of the 'it is what it is, and it looks like it can't be helped' kind of expression. "Boys," she says, shaking her head and grinning. "Always going to be boys, I guess. Y'know what they say: 'if ya can't beat them, join them'. Count me in."

Our mind made up, we take our leave from the park and head due west, to the intersection that leads into the town's business district. We cross the sidewalk, passing by different people, keeping to ourselves. Chatting idly to make the time go faster.

We get too engrossed in the conversation that we barely notice and avoid the blast of red magic shooting right towards us. The twins strafe to either side while I leap backwards and, from a crouching position, look upwards to the source of the magic attack. It's a familiar face to the three of us. The magic spell itself was threatening, but the person behind it is…not. The temptation to break into laughter pervades me, and I almost cave in.

He lands on the ground, calmly breathing in and out and shifting his eyes back and forth between us. His spindly arms burn with crimson energy, his cape blown by the wind behind him.

"Oh, great," Yang remarks with a roll of his eyes, sounding more annoyed than threatened. He adds underneath his breath, "Talk about raining on someone's parade."

"What have we here?" says Carl, the 'Evil Cockroach Wizard', commanding an air of confidence. "If it isn't my favorite pair of brother and sister rabbits. And would you look at that? The big, bad wolf is here, too. Christmas must have come early."

Yin, regaining her balance from dodging Carl's attack, dusts off the specks of dirt from her clothes and also fires her own comment. "What do you want, Carl? Can't you see we're in the middle of something?" Like her brother, she is also disinterested in whatever this little insect has up his sleeve.

"Oh, I know that. I just thought I'd inform you that there's been a change of plans for the three of you." Carl strokes his chin with his one glowing limb, smiling smugly, as if things are going to go his way for a change.

"Says who?" I ask, fixing the collar of my coat and ironing out any creases that might have emerged.

"Why, ME, of course!" A flash of lightning strikes behind him in sync with his proclamation. "Carl, the Evil Cockro—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know what your shtick is." I flail my hand at him to shut him up, having heard him say his name so many times already. I swear, he really loves the sound of his own voice. "You just can't seem to take a hint, can you? How many times are we gonna have to go through this?"

I obviously mean these questions as an insult, but Carl is not fazed by them at all. Yin and Yang have told me that pissing him off is a surefire way to throw him off of his game. It's so bad that he actually had to resort to headphones at one point.

You'd think after two straight failures, he'd give up. But he hasn't. He's resilient, I'll give him that. But he's also stupid. No wonder half of the rogues' gallery of this town is a joke. Compared to the Night Master, Eradicus and the Infernal Beast, these guys don't even rate.

"We're going to go through this again and again and again if that's what it takes," says Carl, who's now levitating off of the ground. "I still haven't forgotten what you did to me two years ago, you stupid mutt. And I've got the scars to prove it."

I groan and shake my head. "You've got some serious problems, my friend," I say, cracking a grin.

The glow in his limbs intensifies, and it isn't his anger or frustration that fuels it. As a matter of fact, he doesn't show any signs of being mad or losing his temper.

I probably should be worried, but come on. This is Carl we're talking about. What can he possibly do that resembles some kind of danger? The answer is simple: nothing.

He wastes little time and fires an entire volley of energy blasts that gets the twins and I moving on our feet. At least he's kind enough to cut to the chase.

We leap to and fro, duck and weave away from the shots and eventually draw our respective weapons: Yin summons Snow Flower, Yang calls forth Phoenix Wing, and Soul Saver and Soul Liberator materialize in my hands.

"Was he always this annoying?" I ask the twins, positioning myself for battle.

"More times than I can count," says Yin, keeping her paws on the hilt of her katana.

Yang, who has inexplicably taken the lead, summons a barrier to deflect Carl's second wave of blasts. He calls it off, looks over his shoulder and says to us, "You'd think that with how good he is with his magic, he'd be half the credible threat that his brother is. But oh no, he's way too busy being his mother's personal mannequin."

Carl, landing right in front of our faces, flashes a grin that pierces every layer of skin and fur on our persons. "It's funny that you should mention them. Come to think of it, I've brought the entire family with me to day. I'll bring them out right now. Oh, mother! Big brother!" He claps three times, and upon doing so, two more entities enter the scene.

One of them is the armor-wearing ant with the Scottish accent, Herman. And the other is a hulking, reptilian beast that seems to be in her forties or fifties or sixties. It's hard to tell with all those scales on her complexion, but what I do know is that she is old! All of a sudden, I'm glad that I haven't aged a day since coming out of the Pit.

His grin still firm on his face, Carl levitates in between both his family members. Something about the ant and the overgrown lizard rubs me the wrong way, and I pick up on it almost immediately. There is no color in their faces, in their eyes. Their expressions are as vapid as the face of a stuffed toy. Their pupils are dilated and hollow, and their mouths are agape, giving ample opportunity for flies to come buzzing in.

But what's most striking about their appearances is the sickly dark brown aura that envelops them. At first I assume that they're under the influence of Fog, but remember that every last trace of the stuff has been erased in this town. Whatever this force that's responsible behind their trance is, if it isn't Fog or the Infernal Beast, it must be just as dangerous.

While Herman and the dragon mother stare on with their completely hollow countenances, Carl does not appear to be under this same effect. He's just smiling all the while, as if he's taking delight in his family's misfortune.

"I don't know if you guys have forgotten, but just in case, allow me to do the introductions," says Carl, whose smile is starting to become more and more unnerving, as is the entire situation. He floats to his older brother first and gestures to him. "Yin, Yang, Lupin, this is Brother Herman. Okay, you definitely know about him. After all, he _is_ the one casting _his_ shadow over me." Once that's out of the way, he then proceeds to his mother and repeats the pattern with her. "And this right here is mother dearest herself, Edna. Remember her? Come on, don't act like you don't. I mean, you _did_ take the engagement ring that she got from that flea bag of a master of yours."

The three of us are speechless, although I have no idea why Yin and Yang are. Maybe they've also noticed that something is _really_ off here. Or maybe it's the fact that our father had a tryst with a dragon, of all things.

 _Gee, thanks for planting that image in my head, Mister Bug Spray Fodder. I really needed that_ , I say in my mind with as much sarcasm and disgust as I can muster.

Luckily, I manage to move past thanks to Yang eventually breaking the silence.

"Yeah, we know who your dysfunctional family is," he says, shaking his head to purge that thought of Edna and Yo together. I know I would. "More importantly, what the hell is wrong with them?"

"Oh, they're perfectly fine. We're just working together as one big happy evil family, that's all."

His nonchalance as he's speaking works its way under my skin, making it crawl, scuttle about restlessly. Why am I all of a sudden getting this unnerved?

"Yang, I've got a bad feeling about this," I lean towards one of his ears and whisper into it.

"Oh, come on. What's the worst that he could do?" says Yang, his confidence still intact despite being disturbed not a moment ago.

He gets his answer when Carl fires another blast of red magic that grazes the fur on Yang's shoulder. Provoked, we leap into battle and confront the opposition. We go mainly after Carl, but Herman and Edna do what they can to impede our progress. Herman wields a battle axe that's five times bigger than he is, while Edna takes to the skies and sends forth a rain of fire down on us.

Yin and Yang go off to handle Herman and Carl, respectively, leaving me to deal with the rampaging dragon looking to char us with her blazing breath. For someone who doesn't do a whole lot compared to her sons, she can actually hold her own rather well. It's probably because I'm taking it easy on her, but she manages to deflect my attacks way before I actually execute them. Even when I angle myself for a better position, she still detects my movement and reacts accordingly.

When her claws and my blade clash, I push against her and gaze into those void-like eyes of hers. If I search them thoroughly, I can get the explanation I'm looking for.

"No offense, but I thought you're supposed to be a stay-at-home mom," I say to her, hoping that I can start some chatter between her and me. "Why are you doing your son's dirty work for him?"

"It's a mother's job to be involved in her children's life as much as she can," she answers, but despite her words, they aren't spoken in a very motherly manner. They are uttered as impassive as her expression. I break out of our clash, but she lunges at me and we go back at it. "He told me that he's no longer ashamed to have me by his side, and actually convinced me to be there for him." Again, her words are empty, just like her face.

'Convinced'? I think the word she's looking for is 'coerced'. That's what it seems to me. That's most likely what this is.

From what I've heard from the twins and even some of the townsfolk, Carl and his family hardly see eye-to-eye. The dispute is mostly between him and his brother, but even his relationship with his mother is strained. I don't know if it's some sort of inferiority complex on Carl's part or a desire to prove himself as a competent villain, but there is no way that both Herman and Edna would acquiesce to his agenda so freely.

While I'm busy pondering on all the possible explanations, Yin and Yang continue their respective struggles, but end up getting knocked down to the ground by a particularly strong shot of magical energy from Carl. Yin tumbles across the asphalt while Yang gets slammed against the wall of a building. I get myself away from Edna's grasp and race to where the twins have landed, not once dropping my guard.

"Well, this is unexpected," I say to myself, focusing on our approaching adversaries and guarding the twins at the same time.

Yang comes to first, and then Yin, both of them picking up their swords and soon themselves. Yang shakes the daze out of his head and Yin keeps herself upright with Snow Flower acting as a cane. As soon as she's somewhat recovered, she draws her sword and joins her brother and me.

Carl rears his arms, and as he readies another spell, I notice something in those eyes of his. A murderous gleam, brought out by his wicked smile and his imposing presence.

"Eat this!" he shouts, flinging a harpoon made purely of crimson energy at us.

We scramble away from the point of impact and regroup a little more. He couldn't have… Could he? He can't really be _that_ stupid.

"Neat little trick, huh?" he comments, inspecting his arms as if looking at a set of fingernails. "That's nothing. Wait 'till you see what else I've got under my belt."

He makes a snapping sound with one of his spindly limbs, and at that instant, the earth beneath us rumbles. Darkened pathways begin to appear on the ground, and out of them come an armada of spirit-like beings enveloped in the same aura as Herman and Edna. Unlike the two of them, though, their expressions are so much more animate, if not a little on the insane side.

Some of these phantasms are ordinary people, which earn them Carl's disapproving reception. Others are warriors from different backgrounds, which Carl _does_ approve of. The rest of them are villains whose times have come to an end, looking their chosen part even more so than the one who beckoned them. These ones leave Carl split in the middle; on one hand, he's thinking to himself 'the more, the merrier', but on the other, he's deeply infuriated that they look so much more menacing than their summoner.

"What the hell is going on?" asks Yin, bewildered by the magical prowess demonstrated by the cockroach just now.

"These past two years have been very kind to me," Carl answers, polishing his arms with a nail filer that he's spontaneously pulled out of nowhere. "I've learned all sorts of new stu—" He brings down his sadistic glee a few notches when he finds that his spiritual minions are simply standing idly while he gives his diatribe. Groaning in annoyance, he barks an order at them that goes, "What are you idiots waiting for? They're right there! Sic 'em!"

At his command, these ghostly beings advance towards us. We initiate a preemptive strike and take down as many as we can, using our respective abilities to their utmost; Yin makes use of Snow Flower to freeze them in place, Yang ignites them with his intensely-burning flames, and I dispel them with a burst of light from Soul Saver and Soul Liberator. But no matter how many of them we slay, ten more take their place.

Like a field of flowers, they sprout from the ground at an alarming rate. They charge at us with the intent of hurting us, or killing us. And eventually, Herman and Edna reenter the fray, tilting the odds further in their favor.

While we're busy combatting our adversaries, Carl floats high above the ground and drones on and on.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh right. I've picked up a lot of tricks that you Woo Fools wish you had. I owe it all to a very good friend of mine. Who is he, you might ask? Why don't I just leave that up to your imagination?"

As his little speech goes on, the fatigue culminates in me and the twins. I can still fight despite it, but Yin and Yang are not as lucky. They're just about to reach their limits. The combination of the effort they've exerted and the injuries they've gathered catches up on them, and they, with their backs against each other, collapse to the ground, the phantoms swarming around them. All while Herman and Edna are also on the prowl.

I leap in front of the twins and ward off the phantasms as well as the ant and the dragon, but in doing so leave myself vulnerable to an attack from Carl. He invokes a new spell, one that takes a while to actually come to light, but is menacing once the preparation is done. An enormous limb of some sorts materializes and springs from the asphalt. It looks like the foot of a bird, its talons pointed and sharp.

Through the cockroach's command, the thing slams down on the ground in an attempt to splat us.

"Foo-portate!" I shout as I embrace the twins tightly and transport all of us away from harm.

I get up from my crouching position and ready my sword once again. As I await for Carl to turn around, I think a little more about these powers that he's putting on display and the stakes that are suddenly raised for me and my siblings.

This isn't the same Carl I've faced before. He is nowhere to be seen in this new presence. First he's using the most basic of energy-based magic, next is necromancy, and then there's conjuration magic. These aren't skills that one acquires overnight, as he himself said so. They take time and commitment to learn, let alone to perfect. Whoever helped him attain this power must have been very good at these mystic arts himself. Still, I wonder if the potential for such power has ever lied in him this whole time.

He spots us from behind him, and he orders the summoned claw to snatch us. Yin and Yang recuperate in time that all of us leap out of the way and retaliate. We leap onto the groggy avian limb and run its entire length all the way to where Carl casually floats. Our swords drawn, we strike him simultaneously. But again, he sees it coming and deflects it…with Herman acting as his personal shield.

We go right back at it, Yin, Yang and I against Herman and Edna. Executing attack after attack, spell after spell, angling ourselves so that we have a better chance of hitting our marks. Parrying their offense and reacting appropriately. This time around, Carl has decided to join the heat of the battle, decked out with his conjured weaponry consisting of a pike and a shield.

He alternates between who he attacks in no specific sequence. At one point, he and I will be trading blows, while he'll be doing it with Yin at another. It's a frenetic, high-speed skirmish that actually pushes us Woo Foo Knights to the brink.

Our conflict reaches a turning point when Herman attempts a sneak attack on Yang, who fortunately deflects the axe swing from behind with Phoenix Wing. With one of us preoccupied, Carl takes the opportunity to throw his pike at the now-vulnerable Yang, and he braces himself for the thing to pierce his flesh.

"Foo-Field!" shouts Yin, keeping Edna's gaping jaws at bay and striking the ground with the joints of her fingers. The maneuver sends a trail of energy surging to where Yang stands, veiling him in a thin, film-like outline that's sturdier than it looks.

The pike bounces off the barrier and flops to the side.

Our battle wears on for a little while longer, taking its toll on us. Finally, the three of us regroup and so do they. Carl lands on the ground, slouching forwards, breathing profusely. Though adept he may be as a magician, power such as this is still demanding.

I myself am fighting to stop my senses from dwindling. Thankfully, I haven't lost any blood, and neither have the twins. But while I am still on my two feet, they are both kneeling on the ground, paws on where their hearts are. Chests heaving from their restless breaths.

Regaining some of his strength, Carl lifts himself up slightly above ground. He folds his arms and crosses his legs, managing to flash a grin even if he's banged up.

"I must say, this has been a very entertaining afternoon," he says. "But I've overstayed my welcome. If you'll excuse me, I've errands to run. Ciao for now."

With a snap of his finger, he and his family vanish into thin air. Yin and Yang try to give chase, but he's already gone by the time they get to where he was. I join them and rest my chin atop my fist.

"What the hell was that about?"

They look at each other and then to me, expecting me to have some kind of answer. I shrug. Unfortunately for them, I am as confused as they are.


	6. An unlikely appointment

_**Swan Song**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin**

Chapter 6 – An unlikely appointment

* * *

Later that afternoon, Yin, Lupin and I have come back home to the dojo, our day out having been cut prematurely short. Both of us twins are at the infirmary nursing our wounds simultaneously, with Yin putting the finishing touches on me.

I, on the other hand, have it just a bit harder.

"Ouch!" my sister cries out, sitting on one of the foldable beds. She winces for the tenth time as I dab a wad of cotton soaked in alcohol against a cut on her right cheek.

"Damn it, will you hold still?" I complain, my arms flopping to the sides.

"I would if you went a little slower," she whines back, swiftly shrugging her shoulders.

"I'm already moving slower than a turtle…with crutches. Just bear with it, I'm almost done, anyway."

I don't get it. If I can hold still while my bruises are being treated, why can't she?

Reluctantly she complies, toughing out each surge of pain that floods her body. I do finish as promised and pack away the first aid kit that I've used back to its compartment.

This is one of those times where we're better off _not_ using Woo Foo. Yeah, the magic side has spells dedicated to the treatment of wounds, but it's not really the be-all-end-all solution to every injury and illness out there. For the most part, these spells are for specific uses, and there _are_ indeed gaps that Woo Foo magic can't fill. Case in point, I don't think there's a spell out there that disinfects wounds, which is why I'm stuck doing it the old fashioned way.

Once I'm done cleaning up my sister's injuries, I apply strips of gauze according to where the wounds are. For any on the face, I just use band-aids, while I use actual bandages for the rest.

Now that Yin's fully patched up, I return the gauze roll back to its original cabinet, slapping my paws together as if dusting them. The two of us then leave the infirmary, Yin locking the door behind her, and head to the kitchen, where Lupin is leaning against the sink helping himself to a can of beer. Unlike me and Yin, there isn't a single scratch to be found on him. If you don't count the scars that are already on his body, that is.

Lupin lowers his head after taking a swig, deep in thought. Putting his can to the side so that he can fold his arms. No doubt thinking of our most recent encounter today. Like us, he wants answers. He wants to know where and how Carl acquired such power. But even after something like that, he still manages to conduct himself calmly and composedly. Any signs of frazzled nerves that dare to show itself are swiftly shaken away. Another reason why he is one of the only two Grandmasters in Woo Foo.

"How are you two holding up?" asks our lupine half-sibling without even opening an eye.

"We're alright, I suppose," I answer, taking a seat on the dining table. "Nothing's broken, and we're alive. I guess that counts for something."

Yin pulls out a chair and sits on it, clasping her paws and planting her chin atop them. "I still don't get it," she starts. "Carl's a credible threat… Well, he can be on a good day, anyway. But raising the dead and summoning magic body parts? That doesn't sound anything like him. We've fought the guy a lot, but we've never seen him do stuff like that before."

While she says this, I too ponder on the matter, considering the numerous possibilities. Leaving out the most plausible ones and crossing off those that aren't. Surprisingly, one of the impossibilities that I cross off is Carl somehow finding a way to use the power of Fog for himself. He doesn't have the sharp mind required to construct a contraption that will let him do it, and even if he did, he won't be getting the smallest drop of the substance within miles of this town.

That leads me to another tangent, one that I actually, genuinely worry about. As small a chance as it may be, there's always the possibility that one of our enemies may have found their own way to accumulate Fog for themselves. It _did_ happen one time, with Ultimoose of all people. He and several others like him are likely candidates.

It's one of the lessons in Woo Foo that I'm both grateful for and annoyed by: evil takes many forms, and a good Woo Foo Knight remains vigilant for them. But I guess I have no reason to be annoyed at this point. After everything I've experienced first-hand, I'm well convinced that just about anything can happen.

"This is embarrassing," says Lupin. "We almost get our shit kicked in by Roach Coach, and now we're in the dark as to how. Ugh. I need something to even this nonsense out." He picks up his beer can and, to my astonishment, groans at the sight of the thing. "No amount of booze in the world is going to do the trick."

I kinda feel the same way, too, and so does Yin. This is a lot to take in for all of us. Something, anything, to grant us some kind of escape, or at least to make sense of all of this, is what we need. What that something or anything is, I have no idea, and may not even be the same for all of us.

Soon, my father joins us at the kitchen, fixing himself up…something from the fridge. He sees me and Yin on the dining table, noticing the bandages wrapped around our bodies, and drops what he's doing to tend to us.

"What happened?" he asks, an urgency in his voice. Getting on his knees to level himself with us. First inspecting Yin, then me.

My sister and I answer him in the form of a lengthy explanation, telling him what has happened word for word. Exactly as we saw it. Taking turns, enduring our injuries.

Dad lets out a sigh of relief and lowers his head, glad that we aren't that badly hurt. Going back on topic, he too is stunned by the tale. Also unbelieving that Carl somehow managed to put up a fight and almost defeat us. He stands up and places a paw around his chin. For the longest time, he ponders on this, as if the answer is just within his reach. Who knows? It just might be.

Eventually he stops his pondering.

"There might be someone who can give us help," suggests Dad, putting his paws on his hips.

"Who?" Lupin asks as he moves away from the sink.

"It's a bit of a stretch, though, but anything's worth a try," Dad adds, and he then makes his way to the living room. There he picks up the phone, sits on the sofa and starts dialing a few numbers.

The three of us follow suit and mill around our father, listening in on the upcoming conversation.

The ringtone goes on four times until someone from the other side of the line picks up.

"Hello, Weiss. This is Master Yo," Dad begins, crossing one leg over the other. "Is your brother home? He is? Could you put him on the phone, then? I need to speak to him."

Weiss's brother? Tyler? He can't possibly be talking about him.

Then again, he could.

He is.

Okay, that has to be my dad's old age getting to him. He's talking about a man who blatantly said that he didn't want any part of any Woo Foo-related business. A man who suggested his sister and his ancestor, one of the most renowned Woo Foo Knights in existence, to not get themselves involved anymore, despite the fact that they've been involved for as long as they can remember. There is no way that someone like him could have something to bring to the table.

I bite my tongue, anyway, but my doubts still stand.

"Tyler? Yeah, this is Yo. Listen, if it's no trouble with you, I'd like you to come over. Something's come up, and we could really use your input. You'll make it? Great. Half an hour? No, no problem at all. See you then."

Dad hangs up the phone, and Yin and Lupin sit next to him on the couch. I just sit on top of the backrest with folded arms and sneaking suspicions.

"Looks like we'll just have to wait," he says, flipping the television on and acting like the past five minutes haven't happened.

"Is there something you're not telling us?" I say, preventing a silence from descending upon the living room.

Turning up the volume a little louder, Dad says nothing and focuses on the program on the TV. He knows, though, that I'm not going to budge until he tells me what I want to hear. Realizing this, he uncrosses his legs and eases up his posture.

"Things have been happening lately," he says.

"What sort of things?" Yin joins in, hunching over a little and folding her arms.

"Things I thought have been done and dusted. Things I thought were over and done with. Things that I've come to realize we can't really get away from."

Something about the tone of his voice comes off as a little coarse to me. He speaks these words like there's no other choice for him. Like he's accepting. No. 'Surrendering' is the better word.

"You don't mean…" Lupin squints his eyes, his crinkling snout forming a mask of suspicion.

"That's what I've been hearing," says Dad, leaning forward, slowly rubbing his paws together. "This world isn't free of the Infernal Beast. Not yet."

'And maybe not ever', is what I expect him to say next, but he just ends it there.

"Even if that were the case," I add, putting my arms atop the backrest. "There's no way that Carl could have anything to do with this."

Dad rests his chin on his fist and thinks some more. "Perhaps, but it's too soon to draw any kind of conclusion. Think of your battle today as a precursor of things to come."

He does have a point. Maybe our fight with Carl is some kind of indication. A premonition, if you will. This struggle against the Infernal Beast has gone on for who-knows-how-long, and every time it has arisen, it's always found a way to reach new heights. To go distances it has never gone to in the past. Each time, the stakes seem to get higher and higher.

And since this _is_ the Infernal Beast we're talking about, there's no telling what this newest rendition of this eternal strife will be like.

"That's enough speculation, though. Why don't we wait until Tyler gets here and then talk about this some more?"

So we wait. And while we're waiting, we go about our respective business. Dad remains in the living room and watches some more TV while passing the time, Yin busies herself with her phone, engaging into a lengthy private messaging conversation with Lina—I'm still amazed that they can manage to talk about so many topics without making things overly dull—and Lupin goes to the dining table where he plays with a fifty-two card deck he's picked up from the coffee table drawer. It looks like he's playing Solitaire.

As for me, I head back to the kitchen, where I whip myself up a sandwich comprised of lettuce, tomato, cucumber and a thick piece of chicken. It's good enough that I'm able to let my mind go blank for the time being and just focus on the flavor. On the taste.

This is the escape I'm looking for. The escape that my sister and half-brother are looking for. I'm not sure how long this will last.

Apparently, not very long, as we finally hear a knocking on the door. It's about twenty minutes to a half-hour before this happens, and the door slides open for Tyler and, to my mild surprise, Weiss and Woo Foo Pioneer Miriam. Accompanying the family is a female leopard decked out in some kind of military uniform, the same one that Tyler is also wearing.

"Glad you could make it," says Dad, closing the door after the last of them enters the dojo. "Please, come on in."

We assemble over at the dining table, where we get comfortable in our respective seats. Miriam, on the other hand, gets busy with preparing food and drinks for every one of us, scrounging through the fridge and cupboards and making use out of whatever she finds.

Before we actually begin with our discussion, Tyler makes our acquaintances with the snow leopard, who according to him is his partner. He introduces her as Rain, but she herself doesn't do much talking, if any. All she does is stand idly with her arms folded and a stony stare that I can't discern. That none of us can discern. I think this means that she sees us as nothing more but strangers with a common interest as her, even her supposed 'partner'.

Dad then starts speaking, narrowly averting any kind of awkwardness between us. He talks on the behalf of us, his children, and gives Tyler a summary of what had happened today. Tyler looks at the three of us, starting with me, and I take my turn to talk.

"It's hard to say, but this Carl isn't the same Carl we've run into in the past," I say, remembering the encounter clear as crystal.

"In what way exactly is he different?" Tyler queries, perching his folded arms on the table and leaning forward.

Now it's Yin's turn, and she explains to him, "He was using a different kind of magic. It wasn't like anything we've ever seen from him."

"Describe this magic for us, if you please," says Rain, breaking my suspicion that she's a total mute.

My sister does as she's told, going off what we've seen today and nothing else. She mentions everything there is to say, from the conjuration of what looked like talons made of pure magic energy to the reanimation of the dead to the absolute and possibly unwilling subservience of his mother and older brother as his puppets. When she brings up the last two, she is particularly astonished.

She ends her testimony by parroting my statement from earlier, which is that Carl was not the same cockroach we've known for a long time. So much so that he might actually, literally, be a different person from what he used to be.

Tyler leans on his chair and thinks about what he's been told, angling his head downwards and screwing his eyes shut. Rain doing the same. I expected a much stronger, more profound reaction from either of them, but this is all that they do.

It's surprising. So much more can happen within two years than what I originally thought. One moment the talk of magic, age-old martial arts and forces far beyond basic comprehension is complete nonsense, the next it's…not.

Not only that, but speaking of turning into a completely different person, I don't see a hint of the old Tyler. What I see now is a man pulling more than his own weight. A man who has a full grasp on the turbulent series of events that has befallen the world. A far cry from the fox who dismissed our struggle with the Infernal Beast as 'little'. When I think of it this way, I guess it's no surprise that my father sought out his aid on the matter.

Not that I have any problems with this, of course.

"What do you think?" Lupin asks Tyler, arms folded. Head tilted.

"I think our CO would be very interested in this. You got all that, Rain?" Tyler gazes at Rain, who's been taking notes this whole time.

She pokes one last period and clicks her pen, flipping through her notepad to ensure nothing is missed. "Every last word," she says, quirking her eyebrow and mouth.

"If I may," says Dad, raising a finger. "Would it be a problem if you could arrange for a meeting between us and your CO?"

"Sorry, but no can do. He's got a lot on his plate at the moment, and besides, we can't involve you in this any more than you already are."

Why do I get the feeling that he's saying this not out of concern for our safety, but because he just plain doesn't want us caught up in whatever business of his is?

Understandably, Lupin rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "With all due respect to you and your organization, but where exactly are you coming from with this?" he says as if he's insulted. "This matter has gone on for as long as the dawn of time, literally. We're all already very involved, and nothing you say is going to change that whatsoever. And if it weren't for our involvement, you wouldn't be getting this kind of inside information in the first place. So I say on everyone's behalf that it's in both our parties' best interest that you arrange that meeting."

Tyler takes a moment to think, lowering his head at an angle. In about fifteen seconds, he makes up his mind. Or better yet, he changes it.

"What's a good time for you guys?" he asks, standing up.

* * *

Tyler told us yesterday that this place we're supposed to meet with his commanding officer is a fifty mile car ride away from the town. Dad's driving slower than usual, but only because Tyler's leading the way in his own car. Just a few feet from our sedan is Noah on his motorcycle, his beak sticking out of his helmet. Either he's just as interested as we are, or he's tagging along merely out of obligation.

The car ride itself is uneventful, the four of us hardly saying a word and keeping to ourselves for the most part. Dad's busy driving, Lupin's just watching the others and the scenery—what scenery?—and my sister's reading this month's issue of _Peachy Teen_ magazine. In the meantime, I'm listening to my music on my phone.

 _Keep you in the dark_

 _You know they all pretend_

 _Keep you in the dark_

 _And so it all began_

 _Send in your skeletons_

 _Sing as their bones go marching in again_

 _The need you buried deep_

 _The secrets that you keep are ever ready_

 _Are you ready?_

"Can you turn that down? I can hear it from _way_ over here," Yin complains, glancing at me. Neither Dad nor Lupin complain. Of course she can hear it from that far; that's what those rabbit ears are for.

That devious, sneaky side of me speaks to me. It tells me to mess with my sister. To grate on her nerves just like we always do. I crack a sly grin and amp up my volume, which _really_ gets to her.

Amid the blaring music, I hear her groan as she buries her head in her magazine. Dad and Lupin just shake their heads, the latter chuckling in amusement and asking how often he has to put up with our crap. Dad's response: "every other day".

Yin thankfully doesn't make more of a fuss and goes back to minding her own business, and I lower the volume of my phone.

Upon reaching the place, the first thing we see is a wide iron gate. Affixed to it is an emblem comprised of a shield over a bird-shaped figure that has its wings spread out. The shield has a checkerboard-like pattern on its surface, with four squares alternating between dark blue and grey, and written on it are the letters S-M-A-R-T.

The security guard marches from his station and engages in a quick exchange with Tyler and Rain before opening the gate. We then drive towards an elaborate, state-of-the-art complex of buildings. Just by the looks of this thing, I already have a feeling that this isn't even half of it.

We all find parking spots for ourselves and exit our vehicles. As I set foot outside of our car, the already gargantuan structure feels all the more imposing. The closer I move towards it, the greater that feeling becomes. It takes my breath away that such an intricate and massive piece of architecture can be constructed. That it really does exist

I recoup enough to let out a whistle showing my amazement. "Wow," I exhale, eyes and mouth ajar, unmoving and unblinking.

"Amazing, isn't it?" says Tyler, patting me on the shoulder. "Let's get moving." He takes point, going ahead with Weiss, Kitsune and Miriam in tow.

The rest of us follow suit, still overcome, overwhelmed by this structure. Tyler pulls out a card from under his shirt and presses it against a blinking contraption on the nearby wall. The thing beeps three times, and the door promptly opens for us.

And it's into the complex we go. We start at a narrow hallway, but soon reach a large foyer that is bustling with activity. People are coming in and out of every door or walking on one of the two bridges hanging above us. Almost all of them are carrying one of two things: a folder or a suitcase. Several of these people are dressed in a soldier's uniform, while the rest wear the same officer's uniform as Rain and Tyler.

After that, it's just some more narrow hallways from here to our eventual destination.

During our walk, I notice that Weiss is holding on to Kit's arm rather tightly and carefully inspecting her surroundings. Like she's out in a mall, except more confining and more disconcerting. I feel just as she does. Those of us non-uniformed guys, we're sticking out like sore thumbs. It's a good thing none of these soldiers and officers take notice, but still, we really don't fit in this place.

After a swift glimpse at her, Tyler sides himself with his sister and rubs her hair tenderly.

"So this is where you work, huh?" Kitsune asks, holding Weiss protectively and inspecting every bit of her vicinity.

"Yup. I never showed you because we're so uppity about letting civilians in." I remember then and there that this is a favor on his and Rain's part. It might not appear like the two of them are pulling a few strings to be able to let us in here, but I'm certain that that's what they had to do. "There's a lot of this joint that's restricted to authorized personnel."

"And where exactly are you taking us now?" Noah joins in, squinting one of his eyes.

"The most secure area in this entire compound. So do us a favor and be on your best behavior," says Rain.

At the end of yet another corridor is a pair of huge timber doors that is also locked by one of those electronic panels. Tyler takes out his ID card again, and as he's about to press it against the panel, the sound of a person's voice can be heard past the doors.

That's what I think at first, anyway, but after the panel beeps, I hear another voice on top of the first one. Kitsune, whose eyes widen quickly, promptly and rightfully presses her paws against Weiss's ears.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims, repulsed by the moaning coming from inside. "Don't listen, Weiss!"

"Fair warning: he might get somewhat unruly at times," says Tyler, his nose crinkling as he cringes with equal disgust.

 _Oh,_ now _you give us a heads-up!_

I need no further reminder, as I've already pulled my ears across my head. So has my sister. Even then, I still manage to make out the exchange between the two voices.

"Oh, yes. Yes! YES! My friends weren't kidding. You're definitely worth the hype, big boy."

"Babe, you ain't seen nothin' yet. How's THIS?!"

"Whoa!"

I can't un-hear any of this, and the images sprouting in the back of my mind aren't helping one bit. Dad and Lupin pretty much share the same kind of body language throughout all of this: their heads are turned to either side, they're keeping their eyes glued shut and their faces are scrunched up with total disgust.

Why the hell doesn't any of us do something to break this noise up? The more we stand here, the more we have to endure this constant moaning and…colorful, for lack of a better word, dialogue.

Just as I ask myself that, Tyler knocks on the door three times, clearly not in the mood for this crap himself. But he and Rain are more used to it than the rest of us are. Seeing as they work here, they have no choice but to put up with it. That explains why neither of them even flinch at a single word that's being spoken behind these doors.

The noise persists. Rain gives it a try and knocks loudly on the door not three, but four times. Thankfully, it works. There's a ten-second window of silence before the twin doors open to make way for a young female magpie leaning on the edge. She's struggling to catch her breath. Her agape beak, the rushes of air escaping from it and her pulsating heart tell me of what took place inside.

As if I didn't already know.

One of the doors open further, and the exhausted bird leans on it, puts a wing across her forehead and shuts her eyes to really relish in the euphoria. A few more moans leave her beak, and she slinks slightly down the door.

Tyler and Rain, rolling their eyes at each other, help the delicate little thing to her feet, but slightly avert their gazes from her. A flush rises on Tyler's face as he tries desperately not to lose his composure.

"If you're wondering where your clothes are, don't sweat it," the other voice starts deep in the room. "One of my secretaries just had them washed and pressed for you. Take a right turn and pick them up from him there."

I doubt that this girl got any of that, but the arctic fox and the leopard duo just let her walk on her own anyway. But not without saying one last thing before she leaves.

"Call me."

And wouldn't you know it, she does follow the directions given to her. The instant she's out of our sights, the two soldiers head inside, and another round of chatter follows. Apparently, this 'Commanding Officer', if you can even call him that at this point, does not remember having a group of people paying him a visit, despite the fact that he had arranged for a meeting with us today in the first place.

As far as this 'Commanding Officer', his speech sounds slurred. Uneven, teetering between sanity and insanity. Like he's had one drink of booze too many. And who knows? He just might throw up, too.

Rain's head pokes past the unopened door and beckons us with her paw. "Come on in," she says, and we heed her and follow her inside.

Immediately catching my attention as we enter is the scent I picked up a while ago, which is at its strongest in here. Definitely some sort of alcoholic drink. It's a far cry from the room itself, which actually looks nice. The soft carpet floor caresses the soles of my feet, every piece of furniture in here is neatly laid out, the windows play host to a set of tall, slick curtains that reveal a picturesque view of the desert just outside. How a powerful, intoxicating odor could even pervade a neat-looking room is beyond me. Beyond any of us.

Standing in front of a mirror on the far right end of the room is a bird with black plumage, fastening his tie with one swift pull before facing our group. He affects a firm smile upon his beak and approaches with a wing outstretched.

"I apologize for being so scatterbrained. It's not every day I have civilians enter this compound," he says as he shakes wing and paws with each of us. "Nice to meet you all. The name's Bertram. Michael Bertram. And welcome to the S.M.A.R.T headquarters."

"S.M.A.R.T?" asks Miriam.

"Correct. Specialist Maintenance Advanced Response Team." What a doozy of a name that is. "I take it that you're all acquaintances of my captain and his partner here."

"Captain?" asks Kitsune, taking the words right out of my mouth. Tyler? A captain in a branch of the military? Since when?

"It's a long story," Tyler replies all too conveniently, rubbing his left arm as if it were hurt.

The last person in our group that Michael greets is Noah, who has seemingly drifted off all of a sudden. Like he's had some kind of life-changing experience or has just had a recent brush with death. Michael notices the stunned look on his face, but simply shakes wings with him as per normal and makes his way behind his desk.

"A story which we'll save for another day," he adds, sitting on his chair, clasping his wings and resting his head on top of them. "For now, why don't we start by getting to know each other for a little bit?"

That's Dad's cue to step forward and speak for all of us. Clearing his throat, he gestures his hand at us, starting with himself and then going from there.

"Mister Bertram, my n—"

Michael raises a wing and waves it and shakes his head at the same time. "Please. Michael's fine."

"Okay, then," says my father with an angled nod of his head. "Michael, my name is Yo, and I am a Grandmaster of the Woo Foo martial art. These here are my children, Yin, Yang and Lupin. These are Weiss and Kitsune, Tyler's little sister and great grandmother, Miriam, a close friend of mine and ancestor to Tyler, and Noah, also a close friend."

"Noah, huh?" Michael muses in a whisper, lifting his head to size up his fellow bird. Acting as though the rest of us don't exist.

Actually, that's not true; he does acknowledge us with a nod and a smile, but he pays most of his attention to Noah.

"Thank you for setting aside the time to make this appointment possible. I'm sure it wasn't easy given your busy schedule, so we won't be here for too long."

"That excuse again?" Michael chuckles to himself and puts his wing on his face as if it were a palm of a hand or paw. "That's just what my troops say so that I don't have to deal with civilian matters. I assure you that I'm not as busy as you think I am. Now what brings you here?"

Dad is silent for a solid five seconds, taking in the explanation that Michael had just given him. This leaves me to do the talking for now.

"You might have heard of a recent string of peculiar events happening lately," I say in an articulate, firm voice.

"More peculiar than they already were to begin with?"

He says that as if he knows exactly what's going on. Not that I disagree with him.

Our town has seen plenty of troubles. Whether it's a muscled moose with a brain the size of a pebble or a clean freak of a hamster with one hell of a British accent or a neurotic blue-skinned witch that's the epitome of 'feminazi', the town has borne host to a lot of antics that would otherwise send any other place in this world crumbling down. A lot of villainous escapades to last many lifetimes.

But in the bigger, grander scheme of things, this is just the beginning. In light of all the craziness that unfolds around me, I keep telling myself, reminding myself, that it could always be worse. As a way to help me pull through the craziness. And starting with Carl's newfound knowledge of more dangerous, more forbidden magic, I now know that this statement I repeat over and over again is truer than I hope it could be.

This is what I want to tell Michael, what I am about to tell him, but I dilly-dally for too long that Yin has taken her turn now.

"This is different," she says as I return to reality. She rolls up the sleeve of her cardigan and shows Michael a small gash on her arm that's almost closed up. "This came from a battle we had two days ago against one of our long-time enemies. He was using magic the likes of us have never seen before. It wasn't like anything he would normally use."

Michael puts his feet up on his desk, crossing one leg over the other. His talons glisten at their tips, and he reclines his head on his wings, listening intently on the rest of my sister's account.

"A kind of magic that isn't in the art of Woo Foo, you say," says Michael, one of his eyes squinting. "What sort of magic?"

"It's hard to describe, but—"

"It's necromancy," Lupin interjects, his face as hard as the resolve in his tongue. "The magic this enemy of ours used involved the reanimation of the dead and making them bend to his will. If that makes any inkling of sense"

Tapping his upper beak repeatedly, Michael then nods his head and stands from his chair. His thoughtful expression shifts into a smile after he's done contemplating. "Well, I must say that this is the first time I've come across this necromancy business, but you've definitely come to the right place. Now please follow me. I believe a tour of our headquarters is in order." He snaps the tip of his wing as if he had a pair of fingers instead and proceeds to the right side of the room, where a concealed panel opens and scans his right eye. "Tyler, Rain, I could very well use your assistance."

The wall before him unveils a well-hidden door. Both Tyler and Rain promptly join their commander on his either side to initiate this 'tour'. Without saying a word, our group does as he has instructed of us and follow him around. The first part of the tour is a long and narrow corridor, as if we haven't already had enough of those. At the end of this pathway, another door opens in anticipation of our arrival.

Beyond this door is a room that is unlike any of the ones I've seen beforehand. It almost feels like it doesn't even belong in this entire building. It feels like I'm stepping into a brand new world. A world that is supposed to exist only in one's imagination, but is somehow a reality.

Rows upon rows of computer terminals are laid out in this one gigantic space. The layout is similar to that of a college lecture theater, with each row being divided into multiple tiers and a staircase at the center. Every single one of these computers has someone operating them, and while these computers and people appear uniform in their jobs, they more than likely have different roles to serve. The first person I see is tasked with giving guidance to a team of soldiers shown on his screen, and is equipped with a headset in order to do the job.

Michael moves to the center of the room, where some advanced, futuristic-looking, holographic console appears in front of him. The image is projected from a panel on the floor, and resembles a computer keyboard, except with a smaller number of keys that correspond to a certain function rather than a letter, number or symbol. He presses a key on the top right, which causes a larger projection to materialize on the wall at the front of the room.

This projection depicts multiple SMART troops undertaking a variety of activities. One group of them is shown to be engaged in a firefight, while another group is out on some less demanding task. Maybe gathering information.

"SMART is a combined enterprise between all five branches of this country's armed forces," says Michael as the screen splits itself into nine smaller ones to portray the different operations these soldiers take on. "We were founded on the basis that any threat, regardless of how farfetched they may seem, is credible and very much possible. It's our appointed duty to gather as much information on these uncommon, peculiar occurrences and respond to them accordingly."

"So you're free to just use this level of military power to respond to these 'threats'?" asks Noah, which strangely brings up a smile on Michael's beak. "We've only heard of you guys today. Under whose authority are you allowed to do this?"

Chuckling out of amusement, Michael quickly spares a glance at Noah before looking back at the multi-screen display. "The government's authority, that's whose. And you've only heard of us now because we started as an emergency protocol that only the highest of the higher-ups know about. If ever the need for it arose, that protocol would be acted upon. And before you know it, boom! You have a ragtag gang of men and women boasting the best of three worlds and the largest possible jurisdiction anyone could ask for: the world."

As Michael says this, a holographic image of a globe clicks on at the bottom of the wall. Nine dots blink on this globe, which then maximize into nine various areas across the world. Each of these areas have SMART soldiers out on the field, on duty. One group is armed to the teeth, their firearms at the ready and with some explosives under their belt while traversing a desolate building. One person in this team even has a bandolier strapped across his person. Another group is out on a much-less intense excursion, observing the nearby area—the shores of a beach—and waving around their devices whose purpose only they know. The group on the bottom-right screen is engaged in a firefight with an opposing group – a bunch of untrained hostiles by the way they're dressed and their haphazard use of their weapons.

Within this band of rogues, I sense a pitch black essence looming over their heads. A familiar film of energy that I know all too well. I also notice that throughout the whole skirmish, their eyes are diluted and empty, their sclera darkened. Those eyes of theirs are part of a shared blank stare that borders towards bloodlust. And they're pretty young, to boot. They look roughly in their late teens or early twenties.

"Don't let our sudden emergence mislead you," begins Michael as I take every scene in. "My subordinates and I have been prepared to the same degree as your regular Navy SEALs, Army, Coast Guard, Marine Corps and Air Force officer and soldier. Perhaps even better, if I do say so myself."

Lupin scoffs at the notion that Michael says. A scoff of skepticism or even disapproval on his part. He's watching the entire cluster of screens, like the rest of us, face scrunched up and eyes narrowed slightly to make his questioning attitude that more pronounced.

He's the kind of person who would much rather see something that be told about something. If this SMART is really what Michael brags it to be, then he'd want to see it with his own eyes.

"That's a really bold claim to make," Lupin retorts, a snide sneer upon his upper lip. "Bold _and_ brash."

"Not if you can back it up." Michael scoffs back, standing in front of his console, commanding authority. Commanding clout. No, it's more than just clout. It's power. Power at its rawest. Its purest. Like he has nothing to prove at all, and if he were to prove it, it would end poorly for whoever challenged him.

Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Lupin shuts his eyes and laughs softly. He shakes his head, as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Whether it was the funniest or the most ironic was the real question.

"You must have a lot of faith in your men if you're sending them out to this kind of dangerous business."

"You're not wrong about that." Michael's tongue turns soft, his face also lightening up. "You're not wrong about this kind of business being dangerous and the faith I have in my soldiers." He stops there and lowers his head to meditate. Even when it seems that he's let his guard down, he still has an air of power to him. "I've put my heart and my soul into bringing this band together, and so much more into the cause that we're fighting for. I'd say that we're alike in that regard. Wouldn't you? Chasing after those that appear as shadows to the public eye and putting a stop to these threats before they can come to be. Isn't that what Woo Foo knights are like?"

The console beeps and a spot of red flashes on one of the panels. Michael touches it, and from out of nowhere, a voice speaks from the other end.

"Sir, we've finished sweeping the area. Multiple signatures have been detected. We're requesting pickup."

Michael fits a headset on him and taps the microphone twice before he replies. "Excellent work. I've designated a rendezvous point between you and Unit India. Arrive there at 0400 hours."

"Understood."

The line fizzes up, and Michael taps the same panel to break contact. He cracks a smile and chuckles.

"I must say, this is looking mighty impressive," says Dad, taking a step forward.

"I'm not exactly sure how much that means coming from someone pushing a hundred or so, but thank you regardless," Michael replies, his choice of words leaving a stinging impression on my father. "And with that, that should be it for the tour." The console shuts off, and he addresses us.

"Some tour _that_ was," I crack, shrugging my shoulders.

Michael claps his wings together and rubs them vigorously. "At any rate, does anyone have any questions? Anyone at all?" We all don't say a word, none of us raising a hand. "I see. Would you care to stay for a while, then? My office is more stuffy than it is homey, but it's comfortable nevertheless. And this place is never short of beverages. Some sparkling white wine for us grown-ups and juice, cola or water for the kiddies."

 _I'm not exactly a kid, y'know_ , I think, a bit offended by his last comment.

"Thanks for the tour and the offer," says Miriam. "But we really must get going."

"Agreed," Lupin adds without taking a second to think.

"Then I'll get someone to personally escort you to where you came in."

We all head back down the corridor, but come up one person short. We stop to look who that one person is, and we see Noah standing idly where he's been the whole time, staring at the entire room. Studying it in its entirety.

"Noah?" asks a bewildered Kitsune.

"Actually, I might stay a little while," the crow responds, sounding distant. Unsure. Like a toddler wandering aimlessly even with his parents in tow. "Go on without me. I know my way home."

"Uh…"

Kit and Lu gaze at each other for a moment to think this through. Sure, it's unexpected to hear this from Noah, but while the rest of us have made our minds, the two of them have yet to reach an accord.

Finally, Lupin reluctantly speaks for them both. "Sure, dude. See ya later."

The two canines wave their paws at their friend once. We then head back to Michael's office, where an officer stands at the center waiting. He begins escorting us all the way back to the entrance, and the walk is completely silent. Actually, even the car ride back is devoid of any conversation.

Probably because what we saw wasn't quite what we expected, and it's going to take some time to process.

This won't be the last time we're going to hear from Michael Bertram and SMART again. If anything, we'll be seeing plenty of him in the days to come. The first impression he's made on us made sure of that.


	7. Points of View, Redux

_**Swan Song**_

 **by Christopher R. Martin**

Chapter 7 – Points of View, Redux

* * *

After coming back from the SMART base that afternoon, all four of us are letting our thoughts on the entire matter simmer down. My brother, my father and I have all agreed that this is exactly the sort of help we need. The sort of importance, the sort of urgency that our situation is in need of.

As for Lupin, he's yet to come to a conclusion. He hasn't said a single word for half an hour, spending that time pacing back and forth in the living room with his paws holding his chin. Actually, he's had that expression on his face since our tour around the SMART headquarters.

When he finally starts talking, his opinion is the opposite of ours. Just because he's been shown around a highly-developed military base, complete with its officers and soldiers, doesn't mean he's convinced that easily. It takes more than a grandiose level of boasting to win him over. He's insistent on seeing for himself what these men and women can do. With his own two eyes, and not just through a monitor.

Naturally, we listen to his two cents, even if we aren't really on the same page as him right now. It's not that we don't see where he's coming from, but he's being just a little short-sighted. You'd think that with a problem as urgent as the one we're facing, he'd think that help is help, and that the more of it we can get, the better.

The discussion fortunately doesn't go too far, and we drop it altogether. I have to admit that he does have a point. There's no harm in a little caution, and I guess that's a more fitting term to use instead of short-sighted.

Later that night, a visitor drops by at the dojo. None of us are expecting anyone. Not me, not Yang, not Lupin, and not Dad. I'm the one who answers the door, and standing outside are Tyler, Rain and a third person I haven't seen before in between them. It's a raccoon around the same age as the two of them, maybe younger, and a few inches shorter than Rain. He's wearing a navy blue trench coat, which compliments its grayish brown fur, and white leather gloves on each paw.

"Um, hi," I start. I feel the others gathering behind me.

"Tyler. Rain. Wasn't expecting you two to drop by again," says Dad, edging closer to the door. "I see you've brought a friend. Nice to meet you, uh…"

"Douglas. Douglas Glasgow, sir. And likewise," the raccoon replies with a pronounced British accent, shaking paws with Dad. I only notice now that his coat also bears SMART's coat of arms. I also notice that he has a folder tucked in his right arm.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Douglas." Dad glances at the coat of arms before looking back at Douglas. "I assume you're all here on important business."

Tyler and Rain eye each other uncomfortably, like they've done something they shouldn't have. Tyler begins talking, "There's one teensy little thing that kinda…eh, might have slipped our minds—"

"Our commanding officer and director Michael meant to disclose crucial information to you during your time at our compound earlier today, but has forgotten on account of mild alcohol intoxication on his part. The man is madly in love with his brandy, but that's beside the point. If you would allow us, we would like to share this information with you in his stead. May we come in?"

"Um… Of course. Why not?"

Dad steps aside, as do me and my brothers. Lupin, however, moves while rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. The trio of officers make their way into the dojo, Dad directing them to the dining table, where the rest of us then follow. There, Douglas lays out the folder in his grasp flat on the surface, scattering its contents evenly for us to skim through. Lupin takes a stapled document, and Dad and Yang a set of black and white pictures. On the folder, I find a stamp that says in underlined upper case letters 'confidential'.

While they look over the stuff they've picked and pass them around to one another, Douglas reaches into his coat and sets a small device down on the table. It has a futuristic feel to it, much like the headquarters, with lights fixed on every side. He presses the button at the top of the object, and the tiny circle in the middle projects a slideshow of images identical to the ones in the folder.

These images depict a bunch of men and women of various ages in different scenarios, each one of them grisly and unsettling. What these people have in common is that they're all dressed in the same attire. They're wearing either a cloak or a jacket behind their backs, so as to keep their identities a secret to the public.

As the pictures shift, Douglas begins an explanation.

"This is what Commander Michael meant to disclose with you today." He moves in front of the miniature projector, pointing at the slideshow whenever appropriate. "We at SMART have been hard at work as of late combatting this band of individuals that have been causing multiple incidents occurring across the globe."

"Hmm… They don't look like they're causing too much of a problem," says Yang, sitting backwards on a chair.

"It may appear that way at first, but…"

Douglas switches slides through a remote that he's pulled out from his coat. The picture that's in the projection right now shows a few of these people standing in front of a large crowd, speaking to them. Advocating some sort of philosophy, spreading it to the masses like a wildfire.

Several more pictures follow, but the scenario is the same. Some of them even depict these hooded people on top of a stage, carrying bullhorns or speaking into a microphone so that their message may be heard en masse.

"Their methods of enacting their agenda are not restricted to brute force."

"Who exactly _are_ these people?" Dad asks, staring sharply at these pictures.

"They call themselves the 'Infernalist' Movement," says Rain, reclining on a wall with her arms folded and legs crossed.

"Their MO basically boils down to getting as many people as they can to sign up," Tyler adds. "They want the public to adapt to a crude way of thinking."

The slideshow continues to shift as Douglas presses on his remote. "The Infernalists are of the belief that anarchy is the only truth in this world. To them, the word 'order' is synonymous with an illusion that has kept a firm grip on the world for far too long. An illusion perpetuated by the governments of the world. And they have bandied themselves as the ones appointed with the task to obliterate this illusion once and for all."

"I don't see exactly how they'll be able to do that," Lupin adds, looking over one last photograph before putting it back in the folder.

Douglas chuckles to himself, as if what Lupin just said was supposed to be funny. "I was suspecting that you would say that." He presses his remote once more. Now the picture on the slideshow is of these Infernalists carrying guns, explosives and knives, among other weapons around their persons, using them with total impunity. "These people may prefer the use of their tongues, but they will not be afraid to use brute force if the situation calls for it. I cannot speak for their combat experience, assuming that they have any, but it would be in our best interest not to discredit their capacity in the battlefield. Now, you mentioned to Commander Michael a certain individual that employed a type of magic that is foreign to your kind, did you not?"

"Necromancy," says Dad, having taken a seat at the dining table.

"Ah, yes. Necromancy." With a nod of his head, Douglas helps himself to a chair of his own. "The Commander may have omitted this detail from you as well, but our database contains information regarding this individual."

He changes the current slide to a photograph that none of us are expecting. It's Carl, standing front and center with a few of these Infernalists, bravely pointing towards something. Like he's a leader to these people. His brother and mother are both in tow, poised at either side of him, but without showing any sign of life in their eyes. The same puppets that Yang, Lupin and I encountered.

"Your boss didn't tell us this?" Yang raises his voice, shooting a stare at Douglas. Understandably upset.

"Again, he was intoxicated at the time. A most terrible and shameful habit on his part, I must admit." Douglas bows his head as solemnly as he speaks.

I lower my head, Douglas's words not quite hitting the mark inside my mind.

If I had known any better, I'd guess that Michael was knowingly, intentionally withholding this information from us. The smell of alcohol was strong in his presence, sure, but he was sober enough to make decisions of his own accord. And he _did_ make a backhanded jab to Dad when he complimented him for being on top of the struggles he's facing.

"I understand if you're upset about this," says Douglas, turning the device off and filing all the documents and pictures back into the folder. "Commander Michael has many responsibilities to tend to, after all. This is more or less a balancing act for him."

"Oh, it's not that we're upset or anything," says Dad, who is still trying to process all of this. "It's more that we're surprised that we hadn't known about this sooner."

Douglas looks at Rain, then at Tyler, before the three of them nod at one another. The raccoon takes a step towards my father and starts scribbling something down on a notepad that he carries with him.

I look over Dad's shoulder, as do Yang and Lupin. It's a cell phone number, two of them, actually. One of them belongs to Douglas, and the other to Michael.

"If you ever find anything that you believe our forces are not yet aware of, do disclose it with us," says Douglas. "Likewise, we shall do the same when any new developments arise on our end."

"I'll keep that in mind." Dad waves the note in agreement and stands from his chair. He shakes paws with the three SMART soldiers. "Thanks."

"The gratitude is unnecessary, Yo. You Woo Foo and we at SMART have a common goal. Learning more about these band of rogues and bringing them to justice is all the thanks that's required."

The three of them take their leave, Dad escorting them to the door.

Maybe it's just me, but Douglas doesn't seem to emote anything else when he speaks. Every word he has spoken so far, it's through the same unchanging tone of voice. His facial expressions aren't any better. He doesn't crack a smile, furrow his brow, shape his face into a frown, nothing. I guess that displaying emotion isn't part of the job description. Not with _his_ role, anyway; at least Tyler and Rain show something. And Michael, too.

While Dad's over there exchanging some last few words with our visitors, I take a seat at the table and mull over the dissertation that was just delivered. Words are circling in my head, in a seemingly never-ending cycle, like a washing machine turned up to its highest setting.

'Infernalist' stands out the most out of all of them.

 _Infernalist._

 _Infernalism._

 _The Infernal Beast._

The dots connect. Everything just checks out, without any real effort. Without any kind of deducing. It's all so laid out thick, so blatantly obvious. Like this was planned out, intended, from the very beginning. Like these crooks, these no-good hoodlums, want us to know that they exist.

No, that's what they really want. If they didn't, then they wouldn't be spouting their propaganda. They wouldn't coerce other people to join them in their cause. They wouldn't be causing any kind of trouble at all.

Not only that, but in the pictures that Douglas showed us, the uniforms that these people were wearing adhered to one specific theme. I noticed the edge of their hoods bearing small white, protrusions – the fangs of a savage animal. To top it off, they all bear an emblem on their chests – a howling wolf.

Just as the stories of old have said. The Infernal Beast, though a vile creature with an incomprehensible amount of power, seats its fear deep in the hearts of every mortal. Its name echoes in every man, woman and child, like a bell knelling to announce one's impending death. The ways it does so are not bound to destruction.

If what I'm led to believe really is true, then influencing all of these people to follow his example is another one of those alternative methods.

And it may be just as destructive, if not more…

* * *

"Well, don't just stand there like a deer in headlights. Make yourself comfortable. Sit a spell, get comfy, be my guest."

"Um… Thanks?"

Michael taps a chair twice to beckon me to sit on it. I do as I'm invited, making myself comfortable as he presses a button on his desk. Another panel then opens on the wall next to his wardrobe on the side, revealing some sort of vault surrounded by smoke. Actually, no, it's moisture.

He fetches a bottle from inside the cooler. The label says it's a bottle of gin straight out of Liverpool, England. It also says that it's made only from the finest of ingredients, the juniper berries in particular being handpicked by experts in the winery industry.

After pouring the gin onto two champagne glasses that have been set out on the desk, Michael hands me one of them. I raise the glass at him in thanks. He takes the first sip and doesn't take very long for him to sigh in delight. Once I get a sample of the taste for myself, I can see why he enjoys it so much. The smooth texture of the gin washes over my taste buds, dabbing them like a cloth being dabbed on an open wound. Refreshing.

"It's good, isn't it?" says Michael, hoisting his feet up to his desk. Resting his head back on one of his wings.

"This must've cost you a fortune, didn't it?" I ask him, swirling the drink around inside the glass, playing with its consistency.

"I get around." Michael is half-finished with his drink, whereas I've only barely scratched the surface. "When you're in a position such as mine, you'll find that it comes with a set of perks that other people wish they had."

"Must be a nice life then. The life of a commanding officer?"

Michael places his drink on the desk and bites the tip of his wing, as if it were a thumb. He swaps out his smile for a pensive expression and then takes his feet off the desk.

"Not always," he says, opening up a folder that's sitting in front of him. Inside, I see a discrepancy of documents and pictures. He looks over them and breathes before closing the folder up. "My plate's almost always full. You'll be hard-pressed to find a time where it's _not_ full."

"But I thought you said that—"

"Yeah, I know what I said. I delegate a lot of tasks to the next people down the chain of command, but at the end of the day, I'm still the one who's ultimately calling the shots. Combat, Reconnaissance, Training, Logistics, International Relations, just to name a few… I'm not complaining or anything. I'm just stating the facts." He continues drinking and stops when he's consumed three quarters of his gin. Another moment of reflection, and he carries on. "Isn't that the same thing with you Woo Foo Knights?"

I guess it's sort of true. That's pretty much the way it was back when Lupin, Kit and I were under Yo's tutelage. The panda would give us lesson after lesson, allowing the three of us the freedom to spar with one another or with him so that we can better ourselves as Woo Foo Knights, and occasionally joining us in whatever battle my friends and I were fighting. Now that Michael's brought it up, he's actually right about that. If you look past the differences between SMART and Woo Foo, they essentially function the same way.

A slow nudge of my head is all I do to show Michael that I agree with him. He laughs at this, finishes his gin and gently sets his glass to the side.

As another round of gin slaps my very taste buds, I can't help but notice that Michael is staring at me with a conspicuous fondness. Again. This makes it the…um…I've actually lost count. It might be because of the similarities between him and I, as far as our appearances go, but I didn't really make a big deal out of it today.

To him, though, it _is_ a big deal.

"What?" I ask him, his stare causing a chill to roll along my skin.

"Sorry, there I go again," says Michael, acting like some high school student harboring a crush. "It's hard for me to _not_ pay attention."

"Pay attention to what?"

"That none of this is no coincidence. You coming over here, your decision to stay behind, you and me being in the same room, under the same roof, together."

Well, talk about not wasting any more time. Talk about getting down right into the nitty-gritty.

"What are you talking about?"

Affecting his smile, Michael digs into one of the drawers of his desk. He fishes out an old photograph that slides across the desk, stopping just millimeters from the edge. It's torn on all four sides and looks partially burned.

When I give it a look, it doesn't take much for me to have the breath forcefully pulled from my lungs. Just the sight of it causes my entire world to enter a spin cycle, rotating and revolving in a course not bound to a specific destination. Moving around sporadically until it finally stops.

In this picture, there are tents scattered throughout a flat plain of land, a bonfire ignited at the center of these tents, and a flock of crows milled around the bonfire. These birds come in different flavors, their age and sex never the same as the last one, but they are all wearing the same form of clothing – a garb that drapes their entire body, but with openings on both sides for the wings.

Michael tosses out a few more pictures for me to look at. They're all pretty beaten up and don't have any color like the first photo. One of them shows a crow in a more ornate get-up, with a decorative, beak-shaped headpiece in addition to his robe, which is patterned with jewelry and a wreath of bones. His mug shows absolute power, exercising total authority. Total command. He's also much older than any of the other crows in this one big flock.

I turn this picture around and find the words, " _mors vincit omnia_ ", written in black ink. Next to the quote is a single character.

烏.

My head hurts. More than that, my heart is pounding, like it wants to erupt from out of my ribcage. I don't know why. Why these pictures are striking a chord with me… But they are.

There's a chasm in me, one that I didn't know about until now. It wants to be filled. But the more it's filled, the harder my head throbs. The more vigorously my chest pounds.

Why…?

Why?

The picture glides out of my grasp and back on top of the table. I palm my wings over my eyes and hunch forward. The chasm is almost full, and whatever was filling it stops short.

"What is that?" I say to Michael feebly, the pounding in my mind and my heart quieting down.

"It's where we come from," Michael replies, filing the pictures into a neat pile. "I assume you don't remember any of this?"

Remember? What's there to remember? How can I remember something I never knew?

I don't answer him.

"The Karasu Clan was destroyed long ago. We were a proud village that boasted the finest warriors this side of the Earth has ever known. Our strength is born of the shadow, and the shadow aids us in all of our responsibilities. All of our battles. Good. Evil. Right. Wrong. Moral. Immoral. They're mere afterthoughts to the Karasu. To who we are."

"What exactly are we?"

Michael stands from his chair, parts the curtains to the window behind him and looks out into the distance. I didn't realize that the sun was already setting, but the sky has now turned orange. "Our kind subscribe to the notion that everything has a beginning and an ending. This is most true for life and death. Each and every man and woman the world over is bound to this one-way course. Yet for every person accepting the inevitable, you will find a handful who are doing everything in their power to avert it. Our duty as members of the Karasu is to ensure that no one deviates from that straight path."

"So…that's what we used to do? We used to put people out of their misery? Whether they like it or not?" I say, my wings clenching around the armrests.

"We stand in the middle ground, but we're not barbaric." Michael looks over his shoulder and chuckles as he says this. "That's just our village's MO. We don't see life as anything less than how anyone else does. Death is a harsh universal truth that our clansmen remind others of. We do so through our guidance of the parted to their final destination."

The comforting manner that Michael conveys all these details to me gets me to relax. I sit easy on my chair and let him continue with the rest of his tale. He makes a good point about the idea of death and how a lot of people out there aren't willing to accept it. I've seen enough in all my years of living to know that he's not lying. And he's not necessarily painting the Karasu Clan as a whole in a terrible light.

Actually, hearing Michael talk about the Karasu is actually making me feel comfortable. In fact, it's making me feel more comfortable than certain times where I was around the Woo Foo Knights. Maybe it's just a matter of seeing the right people for the right reasons. Perhaps just being with Lupin and Kitsune isn't cutting out for me sometimes.

More fascinating is his describing this power that all Karasu apparently share. Well…I wouldn't really call it describing; he mentions guiding parted souls to the afterlife, but that's it. Doesn't stop me from entertaining all sorts of thoughts. Thoughts that I might have that power in me. Thoughts that I have so much to offer beyond where I am at the moment.

"What happens to anyone who defects from the clan?"

Michael caresses the windowpane with the heel of his wing, his motions delicate. "They carry out their own lives. You'll be surprised to find what many of our people end up becoming."

"Such as?"

"Undertakers. Exorcists. Pastors. Fortunetellers. Just to name a few. But even with the different paths they take, our clan will always be home to them." Michael moves away from the window and sits on his desk. He ponders helping himself to another glass of gin, but all he's doing so far is play with the bottle a bit and looking inside of it. He finally pours some out, swirling the drink in his glass before he actually sips it. "Oh, baby. That always hits the spot. Yum."

"How does any of this fit into the equation?" I ask as Michael generously pours me another helping of gin without me even asking for it. "Why are you even telling any of this?"

Putting the bottle down on the desk, he then heads over to the wardrobe. He searches the bottommost drawer and pulls out a small sealable bag. It contains a bunch of small pieces of who-knows-what. Whatever the hell it is, it sure must be important to him since he handles it carefully, setting it down gently on the desk as if all these pieces were still together.

He sits on his chair and doesn't say anything. Fifteen seconds, the room is quiet.

"Do you know what this is, Noah?" he asks, expecting me to have the answer.

But I don't. I shrug. I shake my head. That's it.

"This…is my eggshell. Since the day I hatched, I've had this with me. Wanna know why?"

Once again, I say nothing. He picks the bag up and shows me its contents.

"People change, Noah. Whether for the better or the worse. That's how life works. We pick something up, we let go, we move forward and never backwards, the process repeats itself. I keep this as a reminder of what I am. I keep this eggshell with me so that I never lose sight of where I come from. Of what has been imprinted in my very DNA. I maybe the Director and Head Commanding Officer of SMART, but the Karasu name is always going to be a part of me. I am a Karasu. Always was, still am, and always will be. And you are, too."

In other words, 'once a Karasu, always a Karasu'. Whether we like it or not. Not that I have any objections towards it or anything.

As Michael says every last word of this to me, he foregoes all traces of his merriment. He might have been on the verge of intoxication too, and if so, then any traces of _that_ are also thrown out the window. The steely way he stares at me. The composed yet conducted breaths that leave his orifices. The pulsating heartbeats emanating from his chest. They're basically a hammer beating his stance deep into my head. Into my consciousness.

I'm kinda impressed. So much so that I break out a grin.

"You sure take a lot of pride in this whole Karasu business," I comment, my own heart beating to the same rhythm as his.

Michael grins back. "You're damn right, I do. That's why I want to start anew."

"Huh?"

"Y'know…bring our clan back to its former glory. When this is all said and done with, I am going to make strides in rebuilding the Karasu. Everyone across the world will know the name. They will feel our presence in every corner. Our numbers will rise beyond what our clan has ever known. Our strength will be ingrained in their minds, in their hearts."

The grin on his beak is now a hardened smile. A smile of dedication. One of devotion. A smile that belongs to one whose heart is set on a chosen path and will not be swayed once it gets going.

For a while, Michael stares at me. He then stands and puts his wing where his heart is, feeling its constant beating.

"But I can't do it alone," he says, closing his eyes, letting his breaths flow out of his beak in one continuous wave. "I need someone by my side if I were to do this." Then he extends his wing towards me. "Someone like you…"

"Wha—" I'm flustered. No. I'm more than flustered. I don't know what I am. Okay, I do. Maybe… But…you get my point.

"Be by my side, Noah. You and me, I know we can make it a reality. Everything I've ever known about our clan, I will gladly share with you. Our clan will emerge from the depths of the Earth, stronger and greater than ever. The world will be at our wingtips. We will never be alone again."

He keeps his wing extended, his smile still intact. His breathing, his posture, his beating heart, none of them ever wavering.

That last sentence in particular pulls me in and doesn't let me go.

'Never be alone again', huh? That's a selling point if I ever saw one.

Pictures of me and my two friends flash in the deep reaches of my mind. I see me, Lupin and Kitsune in different scenes. At a park enjoying a leisurely picnic, with me strumming on my acoustic guitar. Me dressed up for a gig at a local coffee shop while the two canines watch from one of the tables. Lupin berating me for smoking a cigarette when I'm not even inside the Woo Foo dojo. Him and Kitsune enjoying an ice cream together while I sit no more than a meter away from them indulging in my own ice cream. I shuffle through these pictures and then discard them for another day.

I don't know why the hell they decided to just pop up unannounced. I guess they have a reason for doing so. They're there to tell me that as close as the three of us are, even if we've been through thick and thin over the years, I will always be the odd one out. That unlike Lupin and Kitsune, who found themselves in the Woo Foo dojo by choice, I found myself there by chance.

But how could he tell? It can't be all because he and I are crows. All because he and I are come from the same place. Maybe he and I are just that. Kindred spirits. Maybe that really is the way it is. That some chasms can only be filled by certain people.

Shit… This isn't quite how I thought this night was gonna turn out.

Unless of course he's referring to something else. Something completely unrelated. Even so, I can still derive comfort in his gesture. Nothing can take that away.

I stare at his wing and then at him, alternating back and forth. Putting a reign around my unhinged feelings… _Take it easy, Noah. Remember your breathing. In…and out. In and out._

* * *

"Again?"

"Yeah. Sorry, but duty calls. I'm needed here. This assignment's not going to take care of itself. I'll be home by the weekend. In the meantime, take good care of Mom, will ya? And tell Great Gran Miriam that there'll be two grand on its way to her bank account. I'll make the transfer before I head off to bed."

"Alright…"

"Aw, chin up, sis. You better not be making that pouty face again over there."

"I'm not. It's just…don't you think you're working yourself to the bone a bit too much?"

"Heh. That's funny coming from you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You should know, Little Miss Always-gotta-do-the-right-thing."

"Hey, I resent that. Besides, what's your excuse?"

"Touché. Well, apples don't fall far from the tree and whatnot. Seems that a bit of me's rubbed off on you. Or is it a bit of you that's rubbed off on me? In any case, pull it together, Weiss, because I will, too."

"Alright. Stay safe, big bro."

On the other side of the line, my sister hangs the phone up. I tap the 'end call' icon on my phone and put it away. I then pull out my pistol from its holster and point it at the target dangling hundreds of meters away from where I'm standing. Bullets begin flying from the barrel and land in a discrepancy of positions on the target. Out of the nine rounds in the magazine, three of them hit the outer markers, another three just barely outside the red circle in the center, and the last three within the red circle.

Rain is over on the firing lane to my right, wiping her rifle clean, pantomiming the posture for the weapon as opposed to actually firing it off. Upon my replacing of the magazine, she chuckles once and sets down the rifle on the counter.

"Once a family man, always a family man. Is that the way it is with you guys?" she asks. Her tone suggests that she's teasing me, but her consistently flat facial features say the contrary.

"Don't tell me you've got a problem with that."

One pull of the trigger after another, the gun sounds off each time. And each time, the weapon sends a burst of vibration surging from my paw to the rest of my arm. The bullets go flying. They make impact with the wooden board. The chamber clicks from the removal and insertion of the magazine.

That's it for tonight. I'm out of magazines. Out of bullets. I put my pistol back into my holster and remain idle. I count the seconds that pass… _One._

 _Two._

 _Three._

 _Four._

 _Five._

…before I start moving again. Now I'm just watching Rain go about the same routine with her firearm, sitting atop the counter. Drumming the fingers on my paw along the surface to pass the time.

The bullets rocketing out of the barrel are no different from a drumroll. The high-speed in which they come out, the consistency of their rhythm, that's how I see it. Hard to believe that it's already five years since I worked at that music shop in town before leaving the place on good terms.

Even harder to believe, the two years that I've been wearing this uniform, traveling places, getting involved in a dangerous line of work, using guns, explosives, knives and other manner of dangerous weapons. I heard that to get far in life—well, farther than where I currently am—I need to let a few things go, and that includes friends. Friends such as the ones I've made in my music shop job. If they're on the same page as I am, more power to them. If not, oh well.

I can't say the same thing for Mom, Nana, Great Gran and Weiss. I figured that Rain knew that fully, if not to an extent. And that her teasing me just now was her means of showing that she does understand.

Speaking of Rain, after all of the magazines at her disposal have emptied out, she wipes the rifle and tucks it away in the compartment underneath the counter. With a swift swipe of her brow, she then makes her way out of the firing range. I catch up with her, and we pass a few other soldiers and officers along the way, whom we wave at upon reaching them.

We end up at the mess hall to grab some grub and seat at one of the tables in the middle row, like we always do. Being in a spot like this means you're more likely to have everyone's eyes on you, but tonight is not the night for that. All of us are just keeping to ourselves.

Rain munches on her burger relentlessly, wearing that sharp glimmer in her eyes that's more suited for combat. I take it slow and easy, working through my mashed potatoes at a leisurely pace and then my roast beef. The food here isn't bad, but they can get a little dried than what my tongue can tolerate. For her, it's nothing. Her fangs tear through the stuff _like_ they're nothing.

When Michael assigned us to the same team, I made it a point to him that neither of us would be superior to the other. I told him that she had a set of skills that will compensate for what I lacked, and vice versa. Of course, I didn't want to get on anyone's bad side then, especially not hers; her intimidation factor has been with her before her enlistment into SMART. But it's times like this where I'm under the impression that she has more authority between her and me. That through her sheer imposing presence alone, she could have her way with anyone.

"Now what?" says Rain as she stops to look at me.

"I didn't say a thing," I reply to her, putting both of my paws up for her to see.

Like the hardy and proud predator she is, the snow leopard resumes from where she left off. The burger's done, and so are the beef and drumstick. All that's left are the peas and the coleslaw. On either side of me, I see the rest of the table is now unoccupied.

She sees this to and takes her paw off of her cup of coleslaw before she can even open it. She tilts her head upwards to a faint smile that's found its spot on my face.

"There goes my appetite," she whines, shrugging her arms at no one in particular. "Hey, I don't mean any disrespect to you and your family, Ty."

 _Really? Now, of all the times? Here, of all places?_ Though in her defense, her voice doesn't rise past a murmur.

"No harm done," I assure her, patting the heel of her paw.

"Do you remember that afternoon?" Oh, boy…

"What?" I ask her, even though I have a hunch as to where this is going.

"Don't play dumb. Entire town was on fire? The water tower? You pushed me out of the way as it came tumblin' down? I ain't spellin' out all of it for ya."

 _You don't need to. Trust me._

"Yes, yes, I get it." I tap the top of my head. "It's been there ever since. And before you say it for what is it now"—I count with my fingers—"Sixteenth? Twenty-third? No, thirtieth time—you're welcome. I was simply at the right place at the right time."

Rain rolls her eyes. "Always gotta put up the modest act. Also, what made you think I was going to thank you again?"

"Oh, just a hunch, is all."

Rain darts her eyes left and right. I look where she's looking. The number of people in the mess hall has gone down by half. The few that are still here are seated too far to hear us talking. I'm assuming that's why she's wandering her eyes around snappily.

She leans across the table, her sigh rinsing over my snout. "What about the day we were assigned together? You remember that, too?"

"As if it were yesterday. I recall it bit by bit. To tell you the truth, I was kinda happy to know that you and I ended up in the same team. I was happy when Michael called you into the room after he called me in. Whether or not it's a coincidence, I'm glad nonetheless that things turned out the way they have."

The effect that my testimony has on Rain is pronounced. Her mouth is agape, and on both of her cheeks are an oval spot of red. The hardness in her eyes lessen. It's not a common occurrence, but when her features do loosen up, they're rather nice to look at.

Rain breaks out of her stupor, realizing her uncharacteristic show of emotion. Dispelling vestiges of it with a shake of her head. On the surface they're gone, but underneath…not so much.

"Can I tell you something, Ty?" says Rain, and I nudge my head 'yes'. "Michael calling the both of us into his room… That was no coincidence."

Those four words. They're a water balloon filled to the brim, flung towards my face.

"What?"

"I asked Michael to be assigned to the same team as you. It was on the last day of training, an hour after our final exam. After the obstacle course from hell. I went to Michael's office, talked to him a bit. I told him 'if you're going to pair me up with someone, I get to choose who that someone is'. And I chose you."

"Why?" Not that I'm complaining, but I need to know. It never hurts to know.

"Dunno. Maybe because I feel like I owe you ten times more than what you've given me."

Throughout her explanation, I notice that Rain has loosened not only her facial features, but her posture, too. She's hunched forward, and her arms are folded as if she has something to hide. As if whatever she's hiding is about to emerge on its own.

The flush on her face has also made its return.

As I'm taking in her very appearance now, something hits me in the back of my head.

"Wait a minute. This isn't about me pushing you away from the falling water tower, is it?" I ask her, like I'm a detective that's on the verge of solving a long, enduring criminal case.

Rain turns her eyes to the side and closes them. She buries her face in her folded arms and after ten seconds lifts it up.

"Since that day, I wanted to let everything I've ever known go," she says, more solemn than ever. This is a degree of vulnerability she's never shown me before.

I wish I could say—act—like I know where she's coming from, but I can't.

"What are you—"

"Before I wound up here, I was someone else completely. Not all of us are born lucky. I kept telling myself that if I don't take matters into my own hands, the whole world's gonna pass me by, no questions asked. If I wanted a bite to eat, if I wanted a roof over my head, if I wanted a shirt on my back, I had to take it all by force. It's either I had all those things or I didn't. How I would get them is all fair game. I had to learn to roll with the punches while dishing out a few of my own. That's not to say it's all bad, though. Where do you think I learned all those moves I showed you back then?"

"Don't remind me." I rub the back of my head as if a lump had grown there.

There might as well be.

I recall one of our combat practice sessions during our training period. It was me against Rain. She had me pinned down in five seconds flat. I couldn't even put up a fight. Not because I was apprehensive about hurting a girl—alright, maybe that came into play somewhat—but because her experiences in fighting were better than mine.

Okay, I'm _really_ confused. First, she's opening herself up more than I've ever seen her do, laying all of this on me thick. Now she's fondly bringing up our days as cadets? This is turning out to be a weird night so far.

"But I digress," Rain continues, back to her somber mood. "I've been thinking… How would it have turned out if I kept going that way, though? Probably not very good. I'd be so much worse off. I would end up in too deep and never able to get out." She puts my paw in between hers. A surge of blood flows to my cheeks and spreads across the bridge of my nose.

This snow leopard sitting in front of me. Is she still the same Rain that I know? Can I even _say_ that she _is_ Rain?

"After you saved me, I realized that you've given me so much more than what I could ever repay you," she says, her paws caressing the heel of mine.

"And that is?"

"A second chance. A clean slate. A fresh start." All of a sudden, every single 'thank you' that she's ever said to me is beginning to make sense. I thought that she was just saying that out of impulse, as if nearly being crushed to death by a collapsing water tower hardwired it into her brain. "I don't know how many times I can thank you, but really, I don't think that's ever going to be enough."

She sits up straight and lowers her head. I hear her patting and rubbing her lap with her paws, trying to keep herself together. I allow her a moment of silence, but that moment goes on for quite a while.

That's not to say I'm not complaining. I need the quiet as much as she does. To keep my own thoughts together. To assess why I'm here in the first place and weigh my reasons against hers.

I told myself that my enlistment into SMART was the best choice I could ever make, from a personal and a financial standpoint. Michael said the same thing, too, during the recruitment process. I told myself that my being here was going to shape me into someone else. Into the man I should be. The man I want to be. The man I should have been from the beginning.

A person that anyone could depend on all the time. More than just an errand boy for his sickly mother. Someone who's strong, proud, made decisions for himself without a shadow of a doubt and lived with the consequences of his actions.

Hearing Rain explain all of this to me is like hearing me remind myself.

"So there. Thought I'd tell you that," says Rain, her paws clasped together. _Yeah. It only took you two years to do it._ She stands up and dusts her pants off. "Anyway, I'm gonna go get some shut eye. Might be a good idea for you to do the same."

"Right, then," I answer her, unmoving. Still as a statue.

"Do me a favor and take care of this, too, will ya." She passes over her empty plate. I stack it on top of mine and place both of them on the tray next to me. "I'll see you later."

She takes her leave, closing the twin doors behind her calmly. I wander my head around the now empty mess hall. The last few officers that were here have already gone ahead to their rooms, leaving only me and the two chefs working behind the counter. I then pick up the tray and hand over the plates before exiting the mess hall as well…

* * *

The winds have begun to change. Underneath her armor, she feels it. It unnerves her. It brings forth misgivings, deigning to send her foundation crumbling down.

On a night such as this is where she can find clarity. Where she can detach herself from the world for a moment, assessing the present state of things and deciding the appropriate course of action. Not even a shift in the currents can deny the comfort one derives from a wind such as this, especially not from this height. The gentleness in the breeze is still there. We are inclined to seek out some form of shelter, some form of release, to compensate for the turbulence. As short as that period of rest may be, it has to count for something.

All the strength, all the power in the world can only bring forth so much. She knew this to be true and subscribed to it. She and her brother…

Her brother.

Two years…

In the eyes of a mere mortal, such a window of time was already rather lengthy. The word 'mortal' circles in her head long enough that she convinces herself she might just as well be one.

She sets her eyes to the town below and sees it all play out in the depths of her mind frame by frame. How he enacted that gesture on his hands, how his body was blanketed by a encompassing light. How with all the might he could muster, he took the plunge and that accursed canine with him.

A being like the two of them was never one to succumb to the wiles of death that easily. Their worldly vessels may vanish, but as the sworn guardians of this world, their very essence, their very being, always persevered. And through that perseverance, they would return to the physical plain. That was their design. That was who they were.

But two years… Two years, and nothing. No return of any kind, nothing that at least hints to it. If he hasn't returned at all this entire time, then he really is gone. His very being really has been erased.

It's hard to fathom, but it's a possibility. One that is hard to accept. One that she can't bring herself to accept, has no choice but to.

Maybe she's no different from a mere mortal. From a common man or woman, if this empathic surge in her core says anything.

It's not fair. He didn't have to do what he did. He didn't have to yank her heart out of her chest and squash it beneath the heel of his sabaton. He understood what his actions would mean to everyone, but he probably didn't see what they would mean to her. How it would change not just the landscape of the world, but that of her world, too. The devastation would be undone for everyone, but she would not be spared from it…

It simply isn't fair.

It isn't.

It's not.

If she _were_ a mortal instead of the armor-clad warrior she is now, she'd have tears running down her face. She puts one hand on her chest plate and wishes that she were. That she had a face, that she could shed her share of tears. That she could feel their warmth as they ran down her cheeks. At least her chest won't be so heavy anymore. At least then she can honestly say that she's accepted things as they are.

Amidst her mourning, she feels the currents swaying. Like an untamed animal being reigned in. She is not alone.

On the edge of the roof is a figure draped in a loose, lavender garb, its face concealed in a kabuki mask. The posture is unchanging, unlike the ebb and flow of the wind tugging at the garment. In this creature's paw is a quarterstaff twice its height, patterned by ceremonial paintings on both tips.

The person steps down from the stone barricade, its intentions indecipherable. Its stare is upon the knight, moving up and down. Eventually it comes to a stop, the quarterstaff caressing the floor beneath their feet.

"Milady," the masked figure starts with a female voice. "Truly an honor." She affects a curt bow.

"You are…" says the Mediator, her own set of eyes never leaving this person. Looking beyond the mask to see the face it conceals.

"You have my sincerest condolences."

Lesser men and women would have flinched. The knight in blue was astonished, but she is by no means 'lesser', body still as water. "How did you—"

"The word has spread since it happened. From one warrior to another, I am sorry. The pain of loss is one we all feel. I have had my fair share of it." She lowers her head and her guard briefly.

"And your possession of that weapon is your means of compensation?"

The lady in the garb and mask glances at her staff as the Mediator points at it. _Shíjiān bō_ : Time Nomad, as other Woo Foo knights referred to it. One who holds it holds the very fabric of time itself.

"If you wanted to, you could turn everything back," says the Mediator, a venom rising in her tongue. "Rewrite history according to your design. But you have not done so yet."

Underneath the mask, the enigmatic woman scrunches her face. A pernicious musing that she thought she had buried unearths in the corners of her mind. It has returned, stronger than when she first conjured it up.

She was well aware of the Time Nomad's nature. Of the dangers that come with trying to unlock that very nature. The primal, unfiltered force of will necessary to awaken its power, as with the rest of the _Kami no Gofu_ and their respective powers.

"No, I have not. And I never will," says the woman resolutely, clenching her other paw into a ball.

"Why is that? Your mountain of sins already too great a burden to bear? Quite fickle of you, wouldn't you agree? Surely, this isn't some misguided attempt of preserving an askew sense of righteousness. It isn't as if all the guilt you are shouldering can be erased with the greatest of ease. Sometimes, I question the stances that you mortals take."

 _Touché_ , thought the masked lady.

Someone out there in the world must have committed an act so heinous, so inconceivable, so deplorable that he or she is beyond redemption. For them, a sentence of death would be far too good a punishment; it alone could not reverse the damage that has been done. The only sensible answer to the situation is to have them live on with the overwhelming guilt encumbering them, and letting them decay into nothingness like the worthless pile of garbage that they are.

Whoever this person may be, she could easily take their place. If such a person indeed exists, that person may as well be her. If she could count with both of her paws and both of her feet, it would still leave many more acts unaccounted for.

But, assuming that such a lowly, pathetic excuse for life does exist, one thing separates her from them.

"Condemn me or pardon me as you see fit. Call me self-righteous while you're at it, too," the masked warrior declares, her hardened resolve shown in her clenched paw firming. "Irrespective of what you think of that, I will bear this burden for as long as I live. And the last time I checked, you're not exactly in any position to judge the affairs of us worldly kind."

The Mediator nods her head deliberately, the warrior's words resonant in her soul. As intriguing as this one mortal before her is, her claims are built on a foundation of certainty. Once she makes them, she will see them through to the letter. No excuses, no second thoughts.

Left with nothing to refute these claims, she faces the opposite direction and moves closer to the edge of the roof. She places a hand on the barricade, lost in the beauty of the moonlit night. In the symmetrical alignment of the stars and the coordination in the way they twinkle.

"Let us agree to disagree. Why are you really here?" she asks, caressing the stone surface.

The garbed warrior inches to the knight's left, planting her staff erect on the floor. "Their forces are growing faster than anticipated, as is their strength. Common men and women they may be, but take heed, milady. They have completely surrendered themselves unto his will. That alone can bring back the catastrophe that the likes of you and I have averted."

"I am aware of that. What of you?"

"We too have amassed our own forces. Prepared them accordingly. I understand if our means are not to your liking—"

"I said no such thing. It is simply something that to this day remains foreign to me."

"Whatever the case, as different as our methods are, our intentions aren't."

Folding her arms, the Mediator ruminates on the masked figure's statement. One thing that set her apart from her brother was her openness to alternatives. To other options. If it meant attaining an established goal, if it was geared towards the greater good, she had no reason to object.

"And your colleagues?" asks the knight, lifting her head up.

The lady in the mask then lowers her head, a gust escaping her orifices.

Her colleagues.

Her comrades.

The fellow warriors she fought side-by-side with a long time ago.

To think that the possibility of reuniting with them was within reach. To think that they would do so under such tempestuous circumstances. It's still better than nothing, but a part of her continues to wish for a different set of circumstances.

Nevertheless, her resolve stays firm, as does her fist. As does her entire body.

"I will consult them in due time," she says, the bittersweet thoughts of yearning and the pleasant thoughts of reconnection permeating her mind. The thoughts transform into a warmth that comforts her. That fuels her, kindling the fire in her heart. She faces the Mediator and affects a bow. "With that, I bid you adieu, milady."

In a blinding coruscation, she vanishes from plain sight. The Mediator does not flinch from the spell, whispering her own adieus. "Until we meet again…Miss Woo Foo Pioneer."


End file.
